


bend and slap

by bicroft



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Law School, Legally Blonde, M/M, Please strap yourself in for a hefty helping of "willing suspension of disbelief"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-20
Updated: 2017-05-20
Packaged: 2018-11-02 23:00:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 35,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10954521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bicroft/pseuds/bicroft
Summary: Zhenya was going to propose, and Oksana was going to say yes, and they were going to get married and have beautiful, charming babies and everything was going to be perfect.Except, none of that happened, and instead, Zhenya was off to Harvard Law on a quest to win back her heart instead.





	1. act 1

**Author's Note:**

> The Legally Blonde AU of truly epic proportions that no one really asked for, in the beginning, but I bestowed upon the world all the same. 
> 
> I'd like to thank @amazingalaina (on tumblr) for betaing this for me, and cheerleading me through it along with the rest of my s/g friends. Y'all're all truly amazing (and, more thanks to Alaina for putting up with my grammar and whimsy.) 
> 
> If you want a soundtrack for this fic, pop in the OBC Legally Blonde: The Musical album, as this whole fic wouldn't have come to pass without my listening to the song "Legally Blonde" on repeat after a particularly nasty game.

Zhenya was going to propose.

He’d been talking to Seryozha and Denis, and asking his Mama for her opinions on rings for _months_ , trying to plan everything perfectly, and tonight was the night: Zhenya was going to propose, and Oksana was going to say yes, and they were going to get married and have beautiful, charming babies and everything was going to be _perfect_.

He couldn’t help but squirm through almost the whole of dinner. He knew it was in bad taste to propose before even ordering your food, but he almost did it, just to get everything over. The ring box felt like it was burning a hole in his pocket. Somehow though, he sat patiently as he could manage through drinks, and dinner, and right up to when they order desert.

Oksana, for her part, looked like she had something on her mind, too. They’d been dating for long enough that Zhenya thought he knew her better than most, and he knew well enough that she’d probably figured him out ages ago. Oksana was very good at letting him feel smart right up until she was ready to pull the rug out from under him, and as much as that still unnerved Zhenya, her ability to keep him on his toes was also something he loved about her.

“Zhenya,” she said, sounding a bit like an exasperated babysitter. “Stop fidgeting, would you? We both know why we’re here; it’s best we just get it over with.”

Zhenya stopped moving immediately, shoulders slumping with relief. As much as he had wanted to make the perfect surprise, it took a weight of his shoulders knowing that he didn’t have to worry about keeping it a secret. “Yes, of course,” he said, starting to stand. Oksana gestured for him to sit back down, though.

“At least let me say my piece, before you go,” she said as Zhenya slipped back into his seat, and he frowned, but made no move to stop her. “This has been… fun,” she said slowly, “You’re a sweet boy, and you’re very, _very_ nice to look at…”

Zhenya was smiling again, and relaxing, slowly moving his hand to the box in his pocket. This was good. He had his speech to make, about how happy Oksana made him, and how beautiful she was, and she had hers. Nothing to be worried about.

“…But,” she said, sighing, and his stomach dropped, “Really, it’s well past time for us to get serious, now, isn’t it?”

“Yes!” he said, nodding his head enthusiastically, “Yes, of course. That’s why we’re here.”

“I’m so glad we’re on the same page,” Oksana smiled, and reaching out to put her hand over his free one. “You’re too sweet, Zhenya; it’s cute. I’m sure I’m going to miss you.”

Zhenya blinked, confused even as he wrapped his fingers tighter around the box in his pocket, “Miss me?” he asked, “I’m not going anywhere- are you going somewhere?”

It was Oksana’s turn to look confused now, a look which Zhenya couldn’t remember ever being on her face. It smoothed out after a second, though, and she gave him a thin, sympathetic smile, bordering on patronizing. Zhenya _hated_ that face; it made his stomach drop even further, sinking with the feeling that there was something here he was missing.

“Oh, Zhenya,” Oksana said, patting his hand as she drew back. “You don’t know why we’re here, do you?”

“I asked _you_ to dinner,” Zhenya pointed out, drawing back himself and taking his hands out of his pocket. “Of course, I know.”

“I don’t think you do,” Oksana said, shaking her head at him like he was a funny child. “Zhenya, we can’t keep doing this- it’s time to get _serious_ , yes? We agreed.”

“I _am_ serious,” Zhenya protested, exasperated. Hastily, he shoved his hand in his pocket, opened the box and shoved it across the table at Oksana. It wasn’t anywhere near how he’d imagined proposing, but, it was the only way he could think to make her understand. “See? Serious- marriage is serious.”

Oksana didn’t smile. Oksana didn’t gasp, or cover her mouth, or look like she was excited at all by the prospect of getting engaged. In fact, she looked a little annoyed. “Zhenya,” she said, slowly looking up from the ring to look at him. “You’re sweet, you’re cute, but. You’re not serious.”

“I am,” Zhenya said, starting to feel a little numb, blinking at her dumbly. “I’m serious about marrying you.”

“And that’s _lovely_ ,” Oksana said, even though it didn’t sound like she believed that for a second. “But, I can’t.”

Zhenya felt his whole face fall, “Why not?”

“I’m going to America,” Oksana said decisively. “There’s plenty to do there, plenty of opportunity- law school, Harvard.”

“ _Law_ school?” Zhenya had never heard Oksana say she had any interest in becoming an American lawyer; everything about this felt like he was being hit by a line of buses. “Okay, you want to go to law school, go to law school, that’s fine, but. What does that have to do with you not marrying me?”

Oksana looked frustrated, now. “If I want to get somewhere in America, in _law_ , anywhere, I have to have someone who has the same goals as me, someone who wants to go somewhere in life. All you want to do is stay here, play hockey,” she wrinkled her nose. “I have no desire to be anyone’s small town housewife.”

Zhenya didn’t know what to say to that, feeling a little sick, so he just gaped at her for a long moment and spluttered.

 Oksana sighed, done with him. “It’s been fun, Zhenya,” she said as she stood, grabbing her coat and bag. “Enjoy your hockey.”

Zhenya watched her go and didn’t say a word. The ring was still sitting on the table when the waiter came back by a few moments later, dropping o ff the dessert they’d been waiting on. He eyed it, and Oksana’s empty seat, but made no comment other than, “Is there anything else I can get for you, sir?”

“Yes,” Zhenya said, sounding just as empty as he felt. “The check, please.”

* * *

 

Zhenya didn’t drag his gaze away from the television until Seryozha burst into his room, with Zhenya’s mother hovering behind them in the doorway.

“You can’t just sit here and mope for the rest of your life,” Seryozha said in lieu of a greeting. All Zhenya did was glare at him, and turn his gaze back to the television. A movie was playing; the two leads were standing in the rain, and the girl was professing her love for the guy.

“I’ll love you forever,” she said. “Whatever we do, we’ll do together.”

Zhenya’s eyes narrowed. “Liar,” he mumbled, mostly to himself. Seryozha made a frustrated noise, and moved to stand in front of the television.

“It’s been _twelve days_ , Zhenya,” he said. “You’ve missed training. People are worried.”

“It’s the off season,” Zhenya snapped, trying to look around him. “And, it’s my life. No one should care where I am; I can do my own thing.”

“The only thing you’re doing is sitting here, wallowing in your tears,” Seryozha said, turning around and turning the television off. Zhenya made a loud noise of protest, but Seryozha paid him no mind.

“So, she said no,” he said. “You broke up, so what? Move on, things will get better.”

“You don’t _understand_ ; you’re already married,” Zhenya sighed, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. He was sure they were rimmed red, but, neither Seryozha nor his mother needed to know he’d been crying. “I love her.”

“Zhenya.” Seryozha sighed. “I understand. Believe me, I _understand_ , but you can’t just stop your whole life.”

“It isn’t stopping it, it’s _living_ it,” Zhenya said. “She said she wanted to go to America, become a lawyer. _I_ could have gone to America, she just wouldn’t let me say. It could’ve worked out.” All that needed to happen was Oksana needed to see he was serious; if that was all she wanted, Zhenya could be serious. He could be the _most_ serious, she’d see.

“You want to go to America?” Seryozha repeated, and Zhenya could hear his mother gasp from where she was still standing in the doorway, just out of sight. “Zhenya, that’s insane; what would you even do?”

Zhenya thought back to something Oksana had said, and suddenly, he had an epiphany. “Law school,” he said. Seryozha looked at him like he was crazy. “She said she was going to law school, and wanted someone who was going to have the same goals as her. I’ll go to America, and go to law school.”

“ _Law school_?” Seryozha said, much louder than the situation warranted. Zhenya heard his mother gasp again. “American law school- _Zhenya,_ you’re a _hockey player_.”

“I already have a degree; how hard can it be?” Zhenya said.

“Yes, in _physical education_ \- it’s basically a hockey degree,” Seryozha said. “And, that was in _Russia_. I’ve heard your English, Zhenya, it isn’t that good.”

“So, I’ll get better,” Zhenya was suddenly dead set on this idea. “I’ll get better, and I’ll got to law school, and I’ll show her I’m serious-”

“Seriously _insane_!” Seryozha cut in, but Zhenya wasn’t having it.

“This is a _sign_ , this is what I’m meant to do,” Zhenya argued. He’d been playing hockey for Metallurg for a while now, and while he loved hockey, loved playing, playing _here_ was starting to grate on him. He felt like there was more he could be doing, better things for him and for his family, and what better was there than this? “Maybe you don’t understand because you’ve already _found_ your true love, had the big wedding, started settling down, but I’m still _trying_ , Seryozha. I’ve found her, I had her- now I just need to get her back, show her how perfect we can be.”

“There’s no talking you out of this, is there?” Seryozha said, running a hand through his hair. Zhenya shook his head. He sighed, and then nodded, “Alright, then. It’s going to be a lot of work, you know that right? There’s all kinds of tests you’re going to have to take, and visa forms, applications, essays-”

“True love always finds a way,” Zhenya said, setting his jaw in a determined line. “I can do it. I know I can.”

“God forbid anyone try and stop you from chasing something you want,” Seryozha said, sounding equally exasperated and endeared. He stood, “After training, I’ll help you study and fill out your forms, maybe see if I know anyone over there I can get you in with.”

Zhenya grinned, shooting out of bed and hugging him, “You’re the best.”

“You’re breaking it to your mother,” Seryozha said, but he hugged him back, which was the important part.

“Breaking what to me?” Zhenya’s mother poked her head into the room, as if she hadn’t been standing there the whole time. Zhenya sobered a bit. This was going to be the hard part.

“I’m going to follow Oksana to America,” He said. “Become lawyer, get married.”

“Oh, Zhenya.” The look on his mother’s face was unreadable, somewhere between crushed and excited. “That’s… are you sure that’s what you want to do?”

“It’s what I’m _meant_ to do,” Zhenya said, because the more he said it, the truer it had to become. That was how this worked, right? “I can afford it, mama, and it’s not like I can’t come _back_ to hockey, or back to Russia, as long as I keep training.”

“If it’s what you want to do,” his mother said, shifting her weight foot to foot in a way that Zhenya knew meant that she didn’t really agree with what he was doing, but knew better than to try and stop him. “Then, of course we’ll be proud of you, no matter what.”

“It’ll pay off when you have little grandchildren to spoil,” Zhenya promised, because nothing was more tempting to his mother than the promise of grandchildren. That was what got her on board with marrying Oksana in the first place; he knew full well that she didn’t really like her, but as long as Zhenya did, and as long as there was the title of grandmother waiting for her at the end of the tunnel, she was content.

“I promise I’ll come back for every break, and call when I can.” Zhenya didn’t know how practical that was, but, it made his mama smile, so it was worth it to say. He walked over and pressed a kiss to his mother’s cheek, “ _And_ , then, you have a son who’s a professional hockey player _and_ a lawyer.”

His mother laughed, and Seryozha started edging his way towards the door. “Actually do your research on this, Zhenya,” he said, clapping him on the shoulder. “You’re going to have to work for it.”

Zhenya smiled at him, a glint of determination in his eye. “I always work for it,” he said. “And, I always get what I work for.”

Seryozha said nothing more, just patted his shoulder and nodded before walking away. By the time he’d talked it out with his mother some more, and then broken the news to his father (who was equal parts concerned and surprised, as his mother had been) and then to Denis (who had outright laughed in his face at first), Zhenya was riding the thin line between exhausted and manic. He was actually doing this; his contract with Metallurg ran up this year anyway, so there was no need for him to worry about anything but saying he wasn’t resigning, but, there was so much that went into this that he hadn’t considered when he had blurted the idea to Seryozha.

He was going to have to make it work, though. It was his only chance at getting Oksana to realize that they were pretty much _perfect_ for one another, even if something in the back of his mind told him to let it got, the majority of his bullheaded nature insisted that they push on. He was doing this for love, after all, and true love always found a way- didn’t it?   


* * *

 

Studying law was so much harder than Zhenya had first imagined. He hadn’t been a _bad_ student in school, just not the best; the memory of begging his mama to do his art homework was too fresh in his mind to allow him to call himself a _good_ student. But, he’d made it through a college degree in between seasons, slowly but surely, and he’d thought that studying law would be something of the same. A little hard, a little tedious, but nothing he couldn’t handle.

Studying law is absolutely nothing like that.

“It’s like reading another language,” he whined to Seryozha during one of their study sessions, letting his head drop to the table and laying it on his textbook, as if the books would start whispering him the secret of the universe and he could stop this madness.

“No, reading it in _English_ is going to be like reading another language,” Seryozha said, sounding far too amused at Zhenya’s pain for any good friend. If he hadn’t helped Zhenya so much already, he would have snapped at him. “And, we haven’t even _started_ with English for the day.”

“Can we just skip English today?” Zhenya huffed, closing his eyes. The books hadn’t started whispering yet, but, maybe if he gave it a few extra moments, something would happen.

“No one’s going to sit there in class and translate for you, Zhenya,” Seryozha said, kicking Zhenya until he was forced to sit up to glare at him. “You want to go to _Harvard_. That’s one of the best schools in America, you know that, right?”

“I’m the best,” Zhenya said. “So, we match. Best school, best player, best girl.”

“You need to be _prepared_ ,” Seryozha said. “I’ll be damned if I let you just jet off to America to chase that girl, only for you to come home with your tail between your legs within the month because you can’t understand your professors and flunked out.” He pushed Zhenya’s other book to the side, and slammed down two more. Zhenya looked at them; the first looked like a basic English-Russian dictionary, which he’d seen before, when he’d first been trying to learn the language. The second, though, was unfamiliar.

“LSAT?” he said, wrinkling his noise. “What’s this?”  

Seryozha made a frustrated noise, and put his head in his hands, “You haven’t done _any_ research, have you?” he said. “God help us all- the LSAT, Zhenya. You need to take it to get into your school; you need to get at least a 174.”

“That doesn’t seem so bad,” Zhenya snorted. What was the big deal about that?  

“The highest score you can get is a 180,” Seryozha said.

That put it into perspective a little. “Oh,” Zhenya said, staring at the book with a little more mistrust. He picked it up like it might bite him, and flipped through a few pages when he deemed it wouldn’t. He frowned at what he saw inside. “It’s all in English.”

“I couldn’t find one in Russian,” Seryozha shrugged, leaning back in his chair. “Just means you’d better study twice as hard.”

“This isn’t _fair_ ,” Zhenya said, shutting the book and shoving it across the table.

“You’re the one that wanted this,” Seryozha said, shoving it back towards him. “If you _really_ want to go there and get Oksana back, you’ll work for it. If not, quit now, save everyone the trouble.”

If there was anything that made Zhenya want to succeed more, it was someone telling him that he couldn’t. “Only a 174?” he said, pulling the book the rest of the way in front of him. “I can do much better than that.”

“We’ll see,” Seryozha said, a small smile crossing his face. “Get to it, Zhenya. You’ve got a lot of work to do.”

Zhenya nodded, and opened the book to the first page. The majority of the words were unfamiliar, but he just snatched the dictionary up and started flipping through. He could do this, it was for love. He could _do_ this, it was for _love_.

* * *

 

“155,” Seryozha said. Zhenya wanted to scream.

“This isn’t _fair_ ,” He said. “I’m trying! I’m trying so _hard_.”

“And you’re almost there,” Seryozha said, and even though Zhenya knew he meant it sincerely, it sounded mocking. _Almost_ there, but not close enough.

“Zhenya!” someone called from across the locker room. Even if Zhenya wasn’t playing with the team anymore, and everyone knew it, but he still always dropped by to train; there was no point in letting himself waste away just because he was spending the majority of his time giving himself a headache and from staring at English words for too long. “We’re going out tonight, you coming?”

Zhenya perked up immediately. It had been _ages_ since he’d been out; he hadn’t at all in fact, since Oksana broke up with him, and he missed it, really. Zhenya liked clubs, liked drinking, dancing, and having fun, and ‘yes’ was on the tip of his tongue.

But, Seryozha, always his fucking conscience, cleared his throat. “155,” he mumbled under his breath, and Zhenya slumped. There was no getting into Harvard with just 155, no going to America, no getting Oksana back, no perfect life and perfect family.

“Can’t,” he called instead, regret obvious in his tone. “I have to study.”

“When did you get so _boring_ ,” his former teammate huffed back, but that was the end of that. Zhenya _hated_ this, hated not having his life.

Things would get better, though. They _had_ to; none of the movies or soap operas Zhenya had ever watched had the couple just… never getting back together. You worked hard, you made sacrifices, and love won out in the end. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Do you have plans tonight?” he asked Seryozha.

“Ksenia is going out, so I’m on babysitting duty,” he said, eyeing Zhenya. “So, no, as long as you don’t mind joining me.”   
  
“I don’t mind.” Zhenya loved Seryozha’s daughters, so spending a night with them would be a much-needed break, even if he was going to spend at least some of that break studying that thrice damned LSAT book.

“Then come over,” Seryozha said, standing and slinging his bag over his shoulder. He put a hand on Zhenya’s slumped shoulder before he turned to leave. “You’re doing really well, Zhenya,” he said, low enough that none of the others that were still packing up and getting dressed could hear him. “It’ll work out, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Zhenya echoed, squeezing his eyes shut. Suddenly, he was close to crying out of sheer frustration.

“You can do this,” Seryozha said. “Just a 175.”

“Just a 175.” Zhenya breathed the words more than said them, like they were his only escape. He opened his eyes, and smiled up at Seryozha. “See you tonight.”

“You’ve got this,” Seryozha said as he was walking out the door, and Zhenya laughed, more hysterically than anything else. He _had_ to have this.

* * *

 

“179!”

Zhenya started awake from where he had fallen asleep on the Gonchar’s couch, almost falling onto the floor. “What?” he asked, still groggy. They’d been up for hours, working and studying; Zhenya had handed Seryozha his latest attempt at taking the test long after they’d put the girls to bed and Ksenia had come home.

“ _179_ , Zhenya,” Seryozha said, shaking him until he was fully awake. “You scored a 179!”

Zhenya’s eyes snapped open and he scrambled to his feet. “Really?” he asked, unconvinced that he wasn’t dreaming. “I can’t have- did you count right, are you sure?”

“I checked it three times,” Seryozha said, grinning like a mad man. “Almost a perfect score, Zhenya, you did it- I _told you_ , I knew you could!”

Zhenya tore the score sheet from his hand, eyes going wide as he looked it over. He had a grin on his face matching Seryozha’s by the end of it, and he couldn’t help but jump for joy. He’d _done it_ ; let anyone try and tell him he wasn’t serious now.

“Looks like you’re going to Harvard after all, Zhenya,” Seryozha said, and Zhenya almost wanted to cry.

“You’re going to be my best man at the wedding,” Zhenya promised, pulling him into a tight hug. “Thank you, Seryozha. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

“You’d better graduate top of your class,” Seryozha said, and Zhenya didn’t think he imagined the tightness of his voice.

“I will, for you,” Zhenya said, and in the moment, he really felt like he could do it.

“Go home,” Seryozha said, stepping back and smiling at him. “Get some sleep. We’ll start putting your application together tomorrow.”

* * *

 

“— And so, Harvard grants admission to Henrik Lundqvist and Jonathan Toews.”

The rest of the board hummed their ascent, and Lowell turned to the next envelope in his pile, as did the rest of the board. “And now, if you’ll join me, Mister…” He squinted at the name on the envelope. It seemed to be written first in the Cyrillic alphabet and then in harsh, chicken-scratch letters in English. “Ev-gee-knee Malkin.”

“He’s Russian?” another board member asked, flipping through the file.

“Apparently,” Lowell drawled.

“He has a degree from a Russian State University in Moscow,” someone from the end of the table said, considering. Lowell made a face.

“In _physical education_ ,” he said, disgust evident in his tone. “Hardly a decorated scholar.”

“He scored a 179 on his LSATs,” the same person said, standing now. Lowell eyed the man; it was Sullivan, of course. He had a penchant for charity cases; the history of students he had fought to get admitted was spoke for itself. “That’s impressive.”

“He’s listing… the KHL on his resume?” someone else said, sounding confused. A man at the end of the table perked up; Lowell hadn’t seen him this interested in any other applicant they’d put forth that day.

“The Kontinential Hockey League?” he asked. “Evgeni Malkin, he’s a _star_ in Russia.”

“This is Harvard Law, not the NHL,” Lowell said derisively. “His player statistics there don’t translate here.”

“But, think: we could use him, for our team,” the man said, standing now, just as Sullivan was. There was a murmur in the rest of the room, Lowell could already feel that this Malkin was going to be the start of the days’ headache.

“Other than that, and a LSAT score, I cannot think of a _single_ reason to admit him.”

“Multiculturalism!” came a voice from the corner of the room. The man from before perked up immediately, and Sullivan smiled, smug.

“We should admit him for reasons of multiculturalism,” Sullivan echoed.

“We’ll bring it to a vote,” Lowell said, even though he could already see where this was going. “All those in favor of admitting Mr. Malkin?”

Almost everyone in the room raised their hands. Lowell sighed.

“And, those against?”

A few raised their hands, but the ascent was slow. Lowell’s head began to pound.

“Harvard grants admission to Mr. Evgeni Malkin,” he said. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Sullivan smile.

* * *

 

Zhenya arrived at Harvard the day before classes we set to start. Boston was loud and bustling, such a sharp contrast to Magnitogorsk that it made his head spin. He spent most of the day setting up his dorm, and listening to the noises around him. English still sounded a lot like alien chatter to him, even with as much as he’d practiced it. On the way over, he’d probably scared the person next to him with how much he had been talking to himself.

“Hello,” he said aloud, hoping it would curb his jitters. “My name is Evgeni Malkin.”

He sounded nothing like an American; no matter how much he’d tried, he had never been able to get rid of his accent. It would have to do, though; he wasn’t here to win over the approval of Americans, just to show Oksana that he could do this, that he could be serious.

He slept fitfully that night, his legs hanging off the end of his too-short dormitory bed, but he was full of restless energy the next morning. The map he’d been given to navigate the campus was frustrating; he couldn’t seem to find the building he was looking for.

He was about to give up, and just turn back to his dorm- how important could the first day be, after all? - when he heard a voice say: “Alright everyone, welcome to your first day at Harvard Law.”

Zhenya’s head snapped around, and he spotted a bench full of people with a dark-haired man standing in front of it. The man was wearing a somewhat ill-fitting corduroy coat, with pants that seemed to be too tight in the back, and too loose everywhere else. He was smiling, but Zhenya knew a forced smile when he saw one, from having to deal with media scrums and interviews.

“I know you all worked hard to get here, so, if you wanted to go around and introduce yourself, feel free,” the man said.

Zhenya stood to the side, watching the group. Another man stood, dusting himself off and squaring his shoulders. “Henrik Lundqvist,” he said. He had a slight accent, but it wasn’t nearly as thick as Zhenya’s. “I’ve been writing financial software codes for years, but, I felt like I’d outgrown the challenge; after yacht number three, it starts to get repetitive.”

He laughed, as did the other one of the other guys on the bench and the man standing in front of it, though both of them seemed like they were forcing it. The other guy on the bench just frowned; Zhenya didn’t think he’d seen him blink the entire time he’d been standing there. It was a little unnerving.

“Welcome to Harvard,” the man standing in front of the bench said. “Anyone else?”

“Conor Sheary?” The other guy who had laughed stood, sounding a little unsure. “I graduated early, from the University of Massachusetts at Ambrose, and, uh. Now I’m here? No yachts, yet.” He laughed a little at his own joke, and the dark-haired man standing in front of the bench gave him a genuine smile.

“There’s still time. Welcome to Harvard.” He turned to the last guy on the bench, smiling at him, “And, you?”

The man looked up at him and slowly stood, still not blinking. “Johnathan Toews,” he said. “I did the Peace Corps, spent sometimes building houses and inoculating refugees in third world countries. Also, worked in animal conservation to protect populations of endangered loons in at risk areas.”

“That’s nice,” The dark-haired man said, giving him the same smile he’d given the first guy. He looked like he was starting to say something else when Zhenya stepped fully forward, and cleared his throat.

“Excuse me,” he said. “You all here for law?

“Uh, yeah,” The dark-haired man said. The three guys on the bench shared a look. “Are you?”

“Yes!” Zhenya nodded enthusiastically, giving them a wide smile. “I’m come from Russia, very excited for study law.”

“We were all just introducing ourselves,” the dark-haired man said, even as the new students behind him gave Zhenya once-overs that went from unimpressed (Henrik and Jonathan) to terrified (Conor.) “If you, uh, want to go?”

This was the moment Zhenya had been waiting for. “Hello,” he said, the words almost tripping out of his mouth. “My name is Evgeni Malkin. I’m from Magnitogorsk, Russia, and I’m used to play hockey for Metallurg, in KHL.”

“I used to play hockey!” Conor looked a little less scared of Zhenya now, but Henrik and Johnathan’s expressions didn’t change. The dark-haired man just smiled at him, and nodded.

“That’s really cool,” he said encouragingly.

“I’m need help finding Criminal Law one-hundred one?” Zhenya said, flipping open the folder he held in his hands. “With… Professor Therein?” Zhenya thought he might have pronounced the name wrong, because heard the derisive snort from someone on the bench. He frowned and looked up, and the dark-haired man shot a scathing look at the rest of the guys.

“We’re all heading there now, actually,” he said, speaking slowly and turning back to Zhenya. “I’m sure someone would be happy to--”

Before he could even finish his sentence, both Henrik and Jonathan had picked up their things and gotten up off the bench. “- Show you.” The dark-haired man frowned, and sighed. Conor smiled, looking more than a little scared again. The dark-haired man smiled at him reassuringly, and turned back to Zhenya. “It’s in Hauser, third building on the left.”

“Thanks so much,” Zhenya said, and started off towards the building, all but sprinting.

“Hey, you-” He heard someone call from behind him, but he didn’t stop. Finding the classroom itself was a little bit easier, since that was just numbers, and Zhenya found it bustling by the time he got there. He spotted a familiar head of blonde hair across the room, and his face lit up. _Oksana_.

He started muscling his way through the crowd, muttering a chorus of “excusing me” and “coming through”. Finally, though, he had shoved his way to the empty seat beside Oksana and sat down, dropping his bag at his feet and making a show of rooting through it for a notebook. She looked up, looked him over, and balked. _Finally_ , Zhenya thought, he had genuinely surprised her.

“ _Zhenya_ ,” she hissed, catching the attention of the guy on her other side, who frowned at them. “What are you _doing_ here- did you follow me?”

“What? No,” Zhenya said, even though that was almost exactly what he had done. “I’m come here, study law, just like you.”

Oksana looked unconvinced. “ _You_ got into Harvard?”

Zhenya blinked at her. “What, like it hard? All is test and paper.”

Oksana was still looking at him like he was insane a few moments later when someone cleared their throat behind Zhenya. He turned around to be faced with the dark-haired man from before, who was smiling at him. “I think this is yours?” he said, handing Zhenya. “Malkin-comma-Evgeni? You dropped it, earlier.”

“Oh, yes!” Zhenya smiled at him, and took the folder back, showing it to Oksana. “Class calendar.”

“Schedule,” Oksana corrected.

“Yes, is what I’m say,” Zhenya said, plowing through. The dark-haired man smiled at the both of them, though it was tight again, like it had been when he was laughing with Henrik. He walked down to the front of the classroom, and Zhenya frowned until he cleared his throat, and started to talk.

“Alright, settle down everyone, Professor Therrien will be here any minute,” he called, and almost instantly, the entire class settled. “I’m Sidney, and I’m your TA this semester.”

He started pacing the front of the classroom, as if he were the one lecturing. “Three years ago, I was sitting right where you all were sitting, and I’d heard the same things you all have about how Therrien was ruthless. How it was impossible to pass his class, how he bathes in the blood of sheep…”

That got a laugh out of the classroom, and Sidney smiled. “All of those are only partially true,” he said, which got another. “But, all you need to know to get through this is-”

The door burst open again, and an older looking man stepped through. “You have the right to remain silent,” he barked, and the class immediately fell silent again. “Anything you say can and will be held against you.”

No one spoke up, and the man who Zhenya assumed was Professor Therrien looked almost sickeningly smug at the fact. Looking at him sent an itching feeling down Zhenya’s spine. “We’re going to begin today’s lesson with a few exercises,” he said, stalking to the middle of the room. He snapped, and Sidney hurriedly grabbed a clipboard and scrambled to his side. “I will give you the details of the case, and you will tell me whether or not you would defend the defendant in said trial.” He snapped again, and Sidney held the clipboard out for him. “Mr… Lundqvist.”

From across the room, Henrik stood and raised his hand. Therrien nodded, and without any further niceties, went directly into his question. “Someone’s grandma took every penny she had ever saved, and sent it to your client,” he said, stalking his way across the front of the classroom like a caged animal. “And he promised to invest it for her. Instead, however, he spent it on… frivolous personal expenses. Escorts, high end alcohol. Would you defend him?”

“No,” Henrik said decisively. “I would rather not take that case.”

“Wrong,” Therrien said, flat and sure of himself. “This one’s a win, unless you’re lazy. The woman’s broke now, is she not? She’ll have some tired, overworked pencil pusher from Legal Aid. Put her on the stand to testify, call her old, prove she’s senile. Your guy goes free, and you have a… _friend_ with notable social connections.”

Zhenya blinked, unsure if he was hearing this right. A murmur went up through the classroom, and Therrien stalked to the board, writing something in quick, tight handwriting that Zhenya could only just barely read.

“Blood in the water,” he read aloud. “You have to look for loopholes in cases, if you want to get your clients off. If you’re here to be _noble_ , here to free the innocent, then law isn’t for you. You’ll learn quick enough that when you’re working to defend people, more often than not, you’re going to have to think more about _winning_ than your moral compass. Now,” he snapped again, and Sidney, who had stuck to his elbow, stuck out the board again. “Mr… Toews.”

Jonathan stood up, keeping a lax stance and staring Therrien evenly in the eye. “Sir.”

“You’re offered a considerable amount for defending the head of a paper company who has been implicated in an embezzlement scheme,” he said simply. “His company, because of the funds he has taken, has been forced to undermine federal environmental protection standards in many of their factories, which is believed to have caused several dozen people working in the factories and living in the surrounding areas to contact serious illnesses, and killing a significant percentage of the deer .”  
  
“You think I wouldn’t defend him just because he’s a soulless money grabber?” Jonathan said, which sent another round of laughter up through the classroom.

Therrien looked like he was going to explode for a moment, and Sidney took a significant step back, almost flinching. His features evened out, though, and he gave a humorless, patronizing chuckle himself. “Oh, you tree huggers thing you’re _adorable_ , don’t you?” he said. “Singing Kumbaya with some lemurs in the Amazon.”

Now it was Toews turn to look like he’d seen red. “Sir, I-” he was spluttering, so angry he couldn’t even get the rest of his sentence out. Therrien just laughed again.

“Oh, I’m sorry; did I offend you?” he asked, mock concern dripping from every syllable. “It’s hard to argue, though, when you can’t swallow your anger long enough to get a word out. Your future employers are going to see that as a sign of weakness and, if they do, you won’t make it past your first trial.”

“What’s the point all this?” he said to an empty classroom, and when no one raised their hands, he went on. “I run a billion-dollar law firm, and every year, I hire four new interns. I want the best, the brightest, and if you can serve me well there, you will have an assured career once you graduate. Do you follow me?”

There was a chorus of “yes” and “yes, sir”, voices ranging from borderline terrified to far too eager. Zhenya snuck a look at Oksana, who had been the latter, and was sitting up much straighter than before. Zhenya saw a glint in her eye, the same glint she always got when she _really_ wanted something. He drew himself up, too, and raised his hand. Therrien paused, looking him dead in the eye, and suddenly every head in the room had swiveled in Zhenya’s direction. “Mister…?” Therrien prompted.

“Malkin,” Zhenya said, proud, voice booming through the quiet room. “Evgeni Malkin.”

“Someone woke up on the right side of the bed,” Therrien huffed, amused. He turned to walk back to the board, speaking as he walked. “Summarize the case of Indiana v Hearn from your reading, please.”

Zhenya blinked. “Uh, I’m wanting to answer the deer question?” he said hopefully.

Therrien turned back to face him slowly and it was suddenly as if everyone in the room had stopped breathing. Beside him, Sidney looked like his eyes were going to bug out of his head. “But, I’m _asking_ you about the assigned reading.” Therein said, voice even and devoid of emotion.

Zhenya snorted. “Who assign reading for first day of class?” he asked, turning to the person on the other side of him for support. It turned out to be Conor, from earlier, who wasn’t looking him in the eye, but _was_ looking like he was going to pass out.

Therrien paused briefly, blinking slowly, and then sighed, shaking his head. “You have guts, Mr. Malkin.” he said, and gave a single, slow snap. Sidney stepped forward, much slower than before, like he was walking to his own funeral. Therrien looked at the roster for a long moment before clearing his throat and saying: “Mister… Kovalchuk.”

The guy sitting on the other side of Oksana stood, but instead of looking at Therrien, he was looking straight at Zhenya. “Yes,” he said. He sounded Russian, just like Zhenya, which gave him a little hope.

“Let us say you teach a class at Harvard Law,” Therrien said, pacing his way up to just in front of Zhenya’s desk, but not looking at him at all. “A prestigious, important position that you’re very, very proud of attaining. But, someone on whom you call has, apparently, not done any of your reading, has not prepared for your class in any manner. Should you let it go, or…?”

“No,” Kovalchuk said, looking Zhenya dead in the eye. “I’d throw him out.”

There was an audible gasp from somewhere in the room. Therrien gave a slow smile. “Alright then,” he said, and then turned to look at Zhenya. “You heard him; collect your things, Mr. Malkin.”

Zhenya just stared dumbly for a moment, looking between Kovalchuk and Therrien before he grabbed his bag and stood. “Come back when you’re prepared,” Therrien said. He waved his hand dismissively, and turned his back on Zhenya. “Has anyone _else_ done the reading?”

Someone from across the classroom tentatively raised their hand, but, Zhenya didn’t stay to hear the answer. He could feel his face burning bright red, shame working its way up from the pit of his stomach into his throat, and Oksana’s gaze on his back as he slipped out of the classroom as quietly as he could manage.

He sat down outside on the same bench that he’d seen Sidney by earlier, and he was still sitting there when class apparently ended sometime later. “Hey, Malkin-comma-Evgeni!” he heard, and looked up just in time to see Sidney jogging towards him. “Don’t take it too personally, yeah? I got kicked out on my first day of class, too; it’s not the end of your law career.”

Zhenya snorted. “Law career isn’t the problem,” he said miserably, looking up at Sidney. “I need to get back into class; can you help?”

“Uh, yeah,” Sidney sounded confused, his brow furrowed. “Go home and… do your reading?”

Of _course_ there was going to be even more studying involved. Evgeni had gotten all of his textbooks before he’d come over, all of them in English, and with a number of words he couldn’t decipher in them that made his head hurt. “Thanks,” he said, and was about to go back to moping when he saw Kovalchuk coming out of the classroom and walking his way. “Excuse me!” he called, running over, Sidney jogging after him. “Why you do that?”

Kovalchuk gave him a distasteful look. “Do what?”

“ _That_ ,” Zhenya said. “Is not good, making someone look bad so you look good.”

Kovalchuk snorted. “ _I_ didn’t make you look bad,” he said. “You weren’t prepared. Go home, do your reading- I’ll warn you, though; law books don’t come with little X-and-O pictures.”

Zhenya’s hands curled into fists, and he was definitely ready to escalate the situation when he saw Oksana come out of the classroom. “There you are,” she said, in a sultry voice Zhenya was very familiar with, and he smiled right up until she took Kovalchuk’s arm instead of his.

“You _know_ him?” he asked. Sidney, who was standing behind him still, cleared his throat.

“I’ll just… give you all a minute,” he said, and nearly sprinted away.

No one really paid him much mind, as Zhenya was currently in a staring contest with Kovalchuk, and was determined to win. “Evgeni,” Oksana said, which she hadn’t called him in ages. “This is Ilya. Ilya, Evgeni- my ex-boyfriend.”

“Who is _he_?” Zhenya said, pointing an accusing finger at Kovalchuk.

“Her _new_ boyfriend.” Kovalchuk said, pulling Oksana close to his side. Zhenya blinked.

“I’m sorry, not sure I hear that right- he’s _what_?”

“My _boyfriend_.” Oksana said, over articulating each syllable. “You need to go.”

“I go to school here, same as you.” Zhenya said. “I get in, take LSATs, everything.”

“Because you did so well in there today.” Kovalchuk snorted. Zhenya’s hands curled into fists again, and he started to move forward, but Oksana delicately cleared her throat before he could swing.

“Darling, let’s take this back to my place.” Zhenya had heard her say that so many times before, but he had never been on the outside of it. It felt like someone had just punched him in the gut, even though all Kovalchuk did was smile at him, smug.

“See you in class,” he called over his shoulder, and they both left him standing there, mouth hanging open dumbly.

It was all he could do to walk himself back to the bench and sit down. He slumped there for a long time, and for the first time since he’d had this whole idea, he thought maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea to leave Russia. At least, there, he’d be playing hockey, and everyone would still love him. Here, all he had was a school full of things he didn’t understand, and people he didn’t fit in with, and a girl who had moved on already.

He shook his head. No. No, he’d gotten in here, worked his _ass_ off to come here, and that had to mean something. So, what if Oksana had found someone else to hang off of; what did he know about her? Zhenya and Oksana had gone out for _ages_. It had been sort of on and off, but, still- it had to mean something, right?

He stood and squared his shoulders. He just needed to get out for a while, is all. He needed to clear his head, and regroup. He stood, and started to head back to his room, but a bright flyer taped to a tree along the way caught his eye. He squinted at it for a moment, and his entire face lit up when he realized he wasn’t imagining the fact that, under the English, the entire thing was rewritten in Russian.

_Capital Teahouse_ , it read, and then an address followed. Zhenya almost dropped his phone when he pulled it out to punch the address in. It was within walking distance from campus- this was _exactly_ what he’d needed, and definitely a sign. He tore the flyer off of the tree, and started in the opposite direction of his dorms, and into the city.

The Capital Teahouse was sandwiched in between two much larger shops, and was absolutely empty when he entered, except for a man who was sitting behind the front counter, flipping through a magazine. He perked up immediately when Zhenya entered, grinning like a madman when he met his eye and shooting out of his seat. He was missing a tooth, which didn’t do anything to help prove his sanity to Zhenya. “ _Privet!”_ he said, scrambling over to Zhenya and pushing him towards a seat. “I’m Alex, welcome to Capital Teahouse- best Russian teahouse in Boston!”

“Is there more than one?” Zhenya asked, a little overwhelmed. Alex frowned for a second, but, his manic grin was back very quickly.

“That doesn’t matter,” He said, pushing Zhenya into a seat, and a menu into his hands. “Let me know what I can get you, yes?”

“A plane ticket back to Russia,” Zhenya mumbled, mostly to himself. Alex seemed to hear him, though, and his grin got impossibly wider.

“You’re from Russia!” he said, sliding into the chair across from Zhenya, and he switched from English to Russian with ease. “Which part? What brings you to Boston?”

“Magnitogorsk,” Zhenya said, unsure. “I got into Harvard Law-”

“That’s a good school!” Alex said. Zhenya smiled.

“I know,” he said. “Hard work.”

“You want to be a lawyer, then?” Alex asked.

Zhenya shook his head. “I want to play hockey,” he said. “But, I came over to America to follow the girl I love, Oksana,” he sighed dreamily, before he remembered the earlier revelations, and his face fell. “Except, she’s already found a new boyfriend.”

“It’s tricky like that,” Alex said, sighing like someone who was talking from experience. He reached a hand out, and put it over Zhenya’s. “You, call me Sasha- we’re countrymen in a foreign land; have to stick together, yeah?”

“Zhenya,” Zhenya said. Alex- Sasha was surely eccentric, but it wasn’t like he had any other friends here.

“So, Zhenya, what’s this new guy have that you don’t- a porn star dick?” Sasha asked, seemingly in earnest. Zhenya sighed.

“No,” he said, bitter. “He’s ‘serious.’”

Sasha blinked. “Okay, so, seriously, he has a porn star dick?”

“No, he _is_ a dick,” Zhenya huffed. “But, he’s serious- he _wants_ to be a lawyer, have a boring life and all that. That’s what Oksana wants, so, that’s what I have to be.”

“Sounds like you’re giving up a lot,” Sasha said.

“She’s my soulmate,” Zhenya said, sure of himself. “It’ll be worth it.”

Just then, the door jingled, and Kovalchuk stepped through, talking to someone on the phone. “I’ll bring the drinks,” he said. “The party’s Friday night, at seven?”

“Party?” Even if it was Kovalchuk saying it, Zhenya’s head snapped up at that. Kovalchuk looked him over and huffed. “I’ll talk to you later,” he said to whoever was on the other side of the line. “Yeah. A few people are getting together next Friday, it’s…” A slow smile spread across his face. “You should come. It’s a costume party.”

Zhenya’s face lit up. “Perfect, I love costume parties.”

Kovalchuk smiled at him patronizingly. “Of course you do.” he said, and rattled off an address. “Next Friday, seven.”

“I’ll be there.” Zhenya said. Kovalchuk rolled his eyes and, instead of sitting down, walked right back out the door. Sasha looked after him, and then to Zhenya, shaking his head.

“You, my friend, are the luckiest person I know of,” he said, and then broke out into another grin. “Let’s find you a costume. I’ve got a few sitting in storage that you can borrow; they might be a little small,” he said, looking Zhenya over. “But, I’m sure we can make it work.”

“You’re the _best_ ,” Zhenya said, grinning at him.

“If you can’t win back your women, Zhenya, none of us have any hope.” Sasha stood, and clapped him on the shoulder. “Up, up. We’ve got work to do.”

* * *

 

Zhenya, being Russian, liked to pride himself on not getting cold. In the skimpy ensemble he’d let Sasha put together, though, he felt like he was going to be found frozen to death the next morning. That, without a doubt, would bring shame on his family, and he was relieved to finally find the house the party was supposedly in.

Except, when Zhenya walked in, he was greeted to the sight of a room of people in monochrome clothes, all staring in his direction. “Holy shit,” someone spoke up. “Who hired the stripper?”

Everyone laughed, and Zhenya could feel his face heating up, but, he swallowed his pride. Obviously, Kovalchuk had been playing some kind of game with him- fine. Two could play that game. Zhenya pushed his shoulders back, and put his chin up. Oksana was staring at him- eyeing him like she was planning on eating him later. “Zhenya,” she said, and Zhenya preened. “What’s this?”

“You know I’m always like to make an entrance,” Zhenya joked, and Oksana smiled.

“You definitely did.” she said, sounding coy. “How come you never wore this when we went out?”

“You never asked,” he said, and she laughed.

“Which is now one of the greatest regrets of my life,” she sighed, taking a sip from the champagne flute in her hand. “I miss Russia, sometimes,” she said, almost absentmindedly. “It was simpler, there. Nice.”

“Then why not go back to how things were?” Zhenya said, smiling. “A least, a little. I’m not ask you to come back to Russia,” he said quickly to her skeptical look. “But, after this, maybe- when you finish school. My offer still stands.” He was a little sheepish now. He hadn’t brought the ring box with him; he’d thought that was a little too much, but, he had brought it with him from Russia. It was sitting on his nightstand, the last thing he saw before he went to be every night, reminding him why he was here. “I come here, be serious so that-”

“Right, because this is serious.” Oksana snorted. “Zhenya, don’t be silly.”

“I’m not being _silly_ ,” Zhenya said, frustrated now. “I got into Harvard, just like you did. We study law together, maybe-” He remembered what Therrien said, in class. “Maybe we get that internship, together!”  
  
“You don’t seriously think you have a chance at Therrien’s internship,” Oksana said, laughing like he was a dog that had just done a cute trick. “Zhenya, you’ve gotten kicked out of class pretty much every day you come.”

“You aren’t going to make it through the semester.” Kovalchuk appeared at Oksana’s side, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. “ _Forget_ getting the internship.”

“Ilya.” Zhenya said, letting a downright predatory smile spread across his face, more a barring of teeth than anything. “Nice to see you. Thanks for letting me know about _costume party_.” Zhenya knew his voice was rising, making a scene, but he didn’t really care at this point. “I see you come as boring asshole; fits you.”

There was an audible ‘ooooh’ from the crowd, some people laughing. Kovalchuk’s face went bright red, and Zhenya just let his grin get wider. “ _Zhenya_ ,” Oksana sighed as if he were a misbehaving child, and then corrected herself. “Evgeni. You have to ace Therrien’s class to even have a chance at getting the internship, and you obviously aren’t his favorite student.”

“I’m _know_ that,” Zhenya said, exasperated. He knew he’d have to work for it, but, if he could prove Oksana wrong and wipe that smarmy look off of Kovalchuk’s face.

“You don’t have a chance.” Kovalchuk snorted, rolling his eyes. “This isn’t something you can muscle your way through, _Zhenya_.” He used the diminutive like he was mocking him, and Zhenya had to fight to keep from grinding his teeth together. “One of these things?” he gestured around the room. “Isn’t like the others. One day? We’ll change the world, write laws, win cases, and you’ll go home, and skate circles on the same shitty ice you always have.”

Zhenya could feel his face heating up again. “Have to be a _good_ lawyer to win cases,” he snapped back. “And, all I see from you? Is hiding behind people, cut people down.”

“ _Who’s_ cutting things down?” Jonathan Toews’ voice piped up from across the room. He was pretty sure he’d only misheard the conversation, but, Zhenya needed an out before his pride got any more damaged than it already was.

“Him!” he called, and he quickly moved out of the way as Toews came over and started in on some conversationalist tirade. Everyone moved towards him, circling around and giving Zhenya the cover he needed to escape.

He ended up back on campus, shivering on the same damn bench as before; he _hated_ this bench, nothing good came from this bench. He had his head in his hands again, until he heard a quiet “woah” from somewhere beside him. “Uh, Malkin-comma-Evgeni?”

He looked up, and it was Sidney again, of course. He was dressed casually, now; a t-shirt with a hoodie thrown around his shoulders, and jeans that fit him much better than the suit pants he’d been wearing before. He sat down on the bench beside Zhenya and smiled at him, taking off his jacket and setting it over Zhenya’s shoulders. “Um, is something wrong?”

“Love,” Zhenya sighed. Sidney frowned.

“Excuse me?”

“ _Love_ ,” Zhenya repeated, and then it was like a floodgate had opened. “I come out here for _love,_ to get married; quit play hockey, everything-”

“You came _here_ for love?” Sidney asked.

“To my personal _hell_ ,” Zhenya spat, babbling. “Nothing go right; I get kicked out of class, girlfriend have new boyfriend, I’m going to die of _cold--_ ”

“Woah, woah, back up,” Sidney said. “You came to _Harvard_ for a _girl_. What planet are you from?”

“Russia?” Zhenya offered, not sure what that had to do with it.

Sidney looked like Zhenya had offended him somehow. “You _followed a girl_ to an Ivy League on another fucking _continent_ , that’s the weirdest reason I have _ever-”_

Zhenya did not need to hear this from a stranger. “Why you come, then?” he snapped. Sidney frowned at him for a moment, eyes narrowing, before his features evened out. He had the same look on his face that Zhenya had seen players get right before a faceoff.

“Alright,” he said. “I grew up in Cole Harbor, for the first part of my life. Nova Scotia, Canada.” he clarified when all Zhenya did was blink dumbly at him. “Then, my parents got divorced. My mom, my sister, and I moved to America- around here, not the best area. I saw a lot of different people, a lot of the justice system going wrong. I wanted to help. Got through undergraduate school and law school paying out of pocket, worked two jobs while I was going to class- so, sorry if I’m not tearing up because you’re trying to act out a Nicholas Sparks book.”

Zhenya wasn’t sure who Nicholas Sparks was, but, he figured it was an insult. “Sorry for you having-” He tried to remember the idiom. “Chip on shoulder.”

Sidney frowned at him for a moment more, and then laughed. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, you’re right. I’ve got a chip on my shoulder, because I’m _trying_. You’ve got to work hard if you want to get anywhere- hell, you might want to get a chip of your own.”

“All I’m needing to _get_ is people to know that I’m _serious_ ,” Zhenya huffed. Sidney laughed again.

“What you _need_ is to get to work,” Sidney said. “Do your work, do your reading. _Study_.”  He stood, and turned like he was going to leave. “I want that jacket back, later.”

Zhenya frowned at his retreating form for a second before he swallowed his pride, and started after him. “Wait!” he said, and Sidney stopped. “Two jobs, _and_ this?”

“I haven’t slept in years,” Sidney sighed, and in that moment, he sounded like it. Zhenya laughed sympathetically.

“How you do it?” he asked. Sidney looked at him- didn’t look him over, or look through him, but genuinely looked _at_ him. It sent a curl of something warm through Zhenya’s stomach.

“Well,” he started slowly. “I don’t go to parties a lot.” He gestured to Zhenya’s outfit. “Time better spent studying. Can’t spend hours trying to look good.”

“I’m not spend _hours_ ,” Zhenya said, instead of what his first thought was. Of course Sidney didn’t have to spend hours trying to look good; he was already naturally good looking. “How do you keep going, though, if you do all this work, never have fun?”

“I have fun, sometimes.” Sidney protested. “But, when it gets tough, I just think about my mom, and my sister.” His gaze went distant, and he smiled, pure and genuine love on his face. “I think about how, one day, I’m going to make partner, and I’m going to buy my mom back our house in Cole Harbor, and put my sister through school, and they’ll never have to worry about anything again.”

Zhenya smiled. It was one of the same reasons he’d jumped on signing with Metallurg. “That’s sweet.”

Sidney snapped back to reality, flushing and shaking his head. “Not really,” he huffed. “It’s the chip on my shoulder- before I left for school the first time, I hugged my mom, told her that I wasn’t going to let any of this go to waste, that I was going to do my best to be _the_ best.” His smile fell, and the faceoff look came back. “Working with Therrien… it’s hard, and he’s not a nice guy, but he’s got a lot of connections. Working with him, I can get to the top.”

“So serious,” Zhenya joked, bumping into him. He wanted to see Sidney smile again; he had a nice smile, the best Zhenya had seen in a while. Sidney laughed- no. Sidney didn’t laugh, he _giggled_ , much to Zhenya’s delight, and he nudged him back.

“That’s what you want to be, yeah?” he shot back.

“You help me?” Zhenya asked, hopeful. Sidney turned his head to look at him again, considering it for a moment, and then nodded.   
  
“Yeah,” he said. “Sure. You want to be serious? Let’s get serious.” He nudged Zhenya again. “Lead the way.”

Zhenya frowned. “What?”

“It’s still early,” Sidney said, even though the sun had long gone down. “We’re going to study.”

Zhenya had to bite his tongue to keep from groaning. It was like being home with Seryozha all over again. “Fine,” he said, turning back and starting in the direction of his dorm, and hoping Sidney would follow.

He hadn’t thought he was going to have company, so, Zhenya hadn’t thought to clean up. Immediately, though, he grabbed some clothes off the floor and tossed Sidney’s jacket back at him. “I’m go change,” he said. “Make yourself home.”

“Oh,” Sidney said, but Zhenya didn’t stop to look at him, instead heading to the conjoined bathroom. He was lucky to have a single room, and neighbors that seemed to never be home thus far.

“You… seem like you drink a lot of Red Bull,” Sidney called from his room.

Zhenya hadn’t drank a lot of energy drinks when he was still playing, but, it was a habit Sasha had gotten him into, and he couldn’t seem to stop. “It give me energy!” he called back.

“So you can spend more time studying?” Sidney asked, or Zhenya thought that that was what he was saying; he couldn’t exactly hear him through the door.

“What?” he yelled back.

“Studying!” called Sidney. “Where are your law books?”

Zhenya actually had to think about that. “They under the…” He couldn’t exactly remember. From the sound of shuffling, he could tell Sidney was looking for them.

“Under the?” he prompted.

“The… pile of…” Zhenya cursed to himself, and pulled his clothes on quicker.

“The pile of…” Sidney went on, and there was still more shuffling. Zhenya sighed, pulling his shirt over his head just as he burst out into the room. He stalked over to his desk, and picked up a shirt that had been thrown there.

“There!” he said, but, when he looked down, there was nothing under the shirt but another shirt. “… I know they here somewhere.”

“You know,” Sidney drawled, skeptical. “Your first step should probably be getting more organized. The easier you can find things, the easier it is to sit down and study. A tidy room is a tidy mind.” He sounded like he’d read the phrase somewhere and repeated it a million times, when made Zhenya skeptical himself. Sidney turned from him, and started picking things up off Zhenya’s floor, looking at them for a moment, tossing the majority of them in the trash.

“What are you doing?” Zhenya asked, grabbing his arm before he could throw something else away.

“Tidy room, tidy mind” Sidney repeated, yanking his hand out of Zhenya’s grip. He was stronger than he looked, and if Zhenya wasn’t annoyed right now, he’d be impressed. “And the less things you have, the less chance there is for clutter.”

“Can’t just walk into room and start throw things away,” Zhenya said. “Is _rude_ , Sidney.”

“You have stuff _all over_ that I’m sure you’re never actually going to miss,” Sidney said, picking up one of the many Red Bull cans on the floor. “I’m not saying any part of this is going to be easy, or simple, but there’s nothing you don’t work for that’s worth it.”

Zhenya frowned at him for a moment, and then sighed heavily. “Fine,” he said, starting to aid in the effort. Soon enough, he could see the majority of the floor again, and he found his books nestled into a corner, under a pile of clothes and much of Zhenya’s hockey gear.

“Found them!” he crowed triumphantly, lifting the books above his head. Sidney came over and took them from him, frowning.

“Been reading them hard, huh?” he said, picking at the plastic that still covered them and raising an eyebrow at him judgmentally.

“They in English,” Zhenya said defensively. “Hard to read for long time. I’m understand some parts, but, most…”

“That’s your first problem, then.” Sidney said, sitting down in Zhenya’s desk chair and pulling out his phone. Zhenya sat down on his bed, crossing his legs under himself and watching intently as he furiously typed something. He made a triumphant noise after a moment and passed his phone to Zhenya.

“It isn’t the exact same edition,” Sid said. “But, I know these books well enough to know that they barely change- _and_ , this one’s in Russian, so it’ll be easier for you.”

Zhenya blinked. He’d never thought about trying to find his books in Russian. “Thanks,” he said, passing the phone back. “Is big help.”

“Law school’s hard, so, you’ve got to make it easier for yourself where you can,” Sidney said, smiling and opening something else on his phone. “Put your number in, and I’ll send you the link to that, and whatever other Russian translations I can find. Once we get that sorted out, we can set up a study schedule; you’ve got a lot of catching up to do, but, if you work hard, we can do it.”

Zhenya perked up at that. “We?”

“You asked me to help,” Sidney said, passing the phone back and looking a little bashful. “So, I’m helping. I can tutor you, as long as you want me to.”

“I’m want,” Zhenya said emphatically, quickly punching in his name (“Evgeni )))))”) and number into Sidney’s phone. “Is big help. Thank you, Sidney.”

“Sid,” Sidney said. “I… just call me Sid. If you want to.” He seemed a lot more flustered than he had been a moment ago, but he gave Zhenya a small smile all the same.

“Sid.” Zhenya repeated. “You call me Zhenya, then.”

“Zhenya?” Sid frowned. He didn’t say it anywhere close to correctly, but, it was endearingly garbled. “I thought your name was Evgeni.”

“Is Russian… nickname?” Zhenya tried, and that seemed to be the right word, so he went on. “Nicknames sometimes a lot different, Zhenya nickname for Evgeni. Is just how it works.” He shrugged.

“Zhenya.” Sid tried again, and he got it a little closer this time. Zhenya smiled at him.

“We work on it,” he said. “You teach me law, I teach you Russian.”

“It sounds like a plan,” Sid said, giggling again. Zhenya was starting to really like that sound. He looked down at his phone again, and frowned. “It’s kinda late, now.” he said. “I’d better be getting home- but. Order that book, and text me. Tomorrow, maybe, we can start going over vocab and getting you caught up on cases?”

“Yes,” Zhenya said. “Tomorrow, I text you.”

Sid smiled at him, and nodded. “See you tomorrow, Zhenya,” he said, and headed for the door. Zhenya watched him go, and when he got up to lock the door behind him, he couldn’t help but slump against it. This hadn’t how he imagined the night going at all, but, he couldn’t keep a smile off his face. Sidney- Sid, he was a really nice guy; funny, smart, and not afraid to call Zhenya out on his shit. And _strong_ , physically and in wits, and if Zhenya had anything close to a type, that was it.

His smile fell when he turned back to get into bed, and saw the ring box sitting on his bedside table. _That_ was why he was here, had to remind himself. As nice as this was, now, he had to focus on the real reason why he came; it wasn’t to be a lawyer, and it surely wasn’t Sidney. He was here to impress Oksana, and that was it. His spirits were a little bit lower than they had been a second ago, but the determination still there, he climbed into bed and turned out the light. At least, now, he had a plan.

* * *

 

“- Define _malom prohibitum._ ” Sid said, sitting at Zhenya’s desk, Red Bull cans littered around the English version of Zhenya’s law book. He’d pulled Sid into his bad habit a few weeks ago, and it was kind of funny seeing him bouncing in his seat like he was. (And, endearing, but Zhenya wasn’t letting himself think about _that_.)

His brow furrowed. They’d been at it for months, now; there were so many new terms floating around in his head that they were starting to get jumbled. “ _Malom prohibitum_ is…” he said, hoping that if he squinted hard enough at his ceiling, it would come to him.

“An act…” Sid prompted, and it snapped back to him. Zhenya sat up so quickly, it almost made him dizzy.

“Act prohibited by law!” he said. “Like jaywalking, or chew gum in Singapore.”

“Right!” Sid said, sounding proud. Sid’s praise always made Zhenya feel warm and flushed. “Therefore, _malom ensay_ …”

“Is action that is evil in itself.” Zhenya parroted. “Assault, murder, root for Flyers.” He’d picked _that_ one up from Sid; for someone from Canada who grew up around Boston, he really had no business being as invested as he was in Pittsburgh’s NHL team. He was, though, and he’d dragged Zhenya in with him. It was nice, having someone to watch hockey with. Sasha watched hockey too, Zhenya knew, but it was mostly KHL, and he was still a little too homesick to think about watching Metallurg play without him. Plus, Sasha rooted for the Moscow Dynamo, and Zhenya didn’t want to have to have that particular argument.

Sid giggled, and Zhenya preened even more. “Damn right,” he said.

Zhenya just smiled at him, and glanced at the time on his phone. He frowned when he saw it though. “I’m have to pack,” he said. “So, should probably stop for today.”

Sid frowned. “Where are you going?”

“No Thanksgiving in Russia,” Zhenya said. “But, is still break, remember? I’m go home.”

“Oh,” Sid said, and he looked at him the same way he had the first night. Zhenya sighed; he knew that look by now.

“What?”

“Well, I predict that you’re going to pass,” he said. Zhenya pumped his fists in the air.

“ _Yes_!”

Before he could celebrate too much, though, Sid held out a hand to stop him. “In the bottom percent of you class.” he finished.

“ _What_?” Zhenya squawked. “That’s not fair!”

“Life isn’t fair.” Sid said. “Look, Zhenya, people laughed at me, same way they’re laughing at you now. You can work _hard_ and it’s not going to stop. It’s gonna take a little more than that.”

Zhenya frowned. His mama wasn’t going to like this, but… “Why you always have to be right?” he said, flopping back onto his bed.

“I don’t,” Sid said, standing and joining him, sitting on the edge of the bed. “When I’m with you, I just always am. Cheer up, Zhenya,” he said, nudging him. “I’ll make it up to you, promise. You’ve never had Thanksgiving, right?”

Zhenya shook his head.

“You will this year,” Sid said, and he had his faceoff face on again. “Come over, have dinner with my family.”

“You’re sure?” Zhenya asked. “Not want to… intrude.”

“I’m inviting you,” Sid said. “So, you’re not intruding. My mom will love to have you, promise. The more people that are there to compliment her cooking, the better.”

“If you’re say so.” Zhenya was still skeptical, but Sid was smiling at him, and it was hard to say no to that smile.

“I am,” Sid said, standing and going back over to the desk. “Now, come on, back to the books. Therrien always has a pop quiz as soon as you get back from break to catch people off guard, and we’ve got to make sure you ace it.”

* * *

 

Zhenya wasn’t really nervous until Sid opened the door. He looked a lot softer than Zhenya had ever seen him, in a dark sweater and a crisp button down, even if he was still wearing the same ill-fitting suit pants. “Zhenya!” he said, grinning at him brightly. Zhenya’s knees went a little weak, and it was all he could do to keep standing. “You came.”

“You invite me,” he managed to say, impressed by the one step he took towards the door. “How I say no.”

“Still,” Sid said, stepping back and ushering him inside. “It’s nice to see you. Come in.”

Zhenya smiled at him and stepped into the house. The whole place smelled of cooking- good cooking, the kind that made him yearn for his mother’s- and the décor was warm, if eclectic. This, too, reminded Zhenya of home, and it was comforting and melancholy in equal parts.

“Is this your boyfriend, then?” Zhenya’s head snapped up at the voice, and he turned to see a young girl standing in the doorway behind him, leaning casually against the wall as she eyed him. “Taller than the last one.”

“ _Taylor_ ,” Sid hissed, and there was color in his cheeks. He cleared his throat. “Taylor, this is Zhenya- Evgeni. I’m tutoring him. Evgeni, this is Taylor, my little sister, and eternal pain in my ass.”

“Language!” another female voice called from behind Taylor. Sid’s cheeks went even more red.

“Sorry, mom!” he called back. Taylor just laughed.

“Nice to meet you,” she said to Zhenya, sticking out her hand for him to shake. He did. “I’m a little disappointed. You’re a lot better looking than Sid’s last boyfriend.”

“ _Stop_ , oh my god.” Sid looked like he wanted to melt, which made Zhenya laugh more than anything else, even with as flustered as he was himself.

“Of course,” he said. “I’m most best looking. Sid not do any better than me.”

“Dating a rock would be better than dating you.” Sid chirped back, and Zhenya laughed.

“Don’t be _rude_ , Sidney.” It was his mother again, and this time, she was standing in the doorway just behind Taylor, her hands on her hips.

“He started it!” Sid protested, but one look from his mother made him sigh and drop it. “Mom, this is Evgeni. Evgeni, my mother.”

“Woman who make Sid want to be best lawyer,” Zhenya said, smiling at her and stepping forward. “Pleased to meet, Ms. Sid’s mom. Very nice son, even if rude sometimes.”

“Call me Trina.” Sid’s mom smiled, and instead of shaking his hand, pulled him down into a hug. This, too, reminded him of his own mother, and it made Zhenya’s heart ache a little. “We’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Like a _lot_ about you,” Taylor said as Trina let Sid go.

“Is there anything left to do in the kitchen?” Sid said quickly, obviously looking for an escape. “Because, I can go do that.”

“I haven’t let you burn down the house yet, and I’m not letting you do it today,” Trina said, holding up a hand to stop him. “You can show Evgeni around, and keep yourself _out_ of my kitchen.”

“I’m not _that_ bad at cooking,” Sid whined, but he turned back to Zhenya all the same. “I guess you get the tour.” He smiled at him, and nodding in the opposite direction. “It isn’t much, but...”

“I’m want to see anyway,” Zhenya said, shooting him a smile back.

The tour was quick, mostly because Sid only gave a passing explanation of each of the small rooms they walked through. “Living room,” he said. “Where we live. I usually fall asleep there.” He pointed to a worn looking couch, a blanket thrown over the back and not a pillow in sight. Zhenya wrinkled his nose.

“You not have bed?” he asked, mostly joking but a little concerned. Sid laughed.

“No, I have one,” he said. “I just usually get in late. After classes, I’m usually either studying with you or spending the rest of the day running errands and working at Professor Therrien’s firm. By the time I get home, it’s late, and I don’t really want to make the effort to walk upstairs, so.”

“So, you sleep on couch and hurt your back.” Zhenya finished, feeling a little guilty that he was part of the routine that had Sid tiring himself out like this. “I’m make sure we keep studying short, so you can be not tired.”

“Oh, no!” Sid said quickly. “It’s fine, really. Studying with you is kind of the highlight of my day.” He flushed when he said it, like it was something he was embarrassed to admit, but it just made Zhenya’s face light up.

“Is mine, too,” he said. “Everything else is… stress, hard, like I’m fighting everyone. But, spending time with you… I’m actually understand things, feel like I’m doing the right thing.”

Sid smiled. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, me too.”

They just stood there for a moment, smiling at each other, before Sid cleared his throat and dropped his gaze. “Let me, uh, show you my actual room?”

Zhenya laughed softly and nodded. “Yes, sure.”

Sid’s room was just as clean as Zhenya had expected; there didn’t seem like there was a single thing out of place, even as Sid moved around the room, straightening things like a nervous housewife. “Uh, make yourself at home?” he said, and so Zhenya did, toeing off his shoes and throwing himself onto Sid’s bed. He hoped that, if he acted like he wasn’t nervous, it would make Sid relax a little, too.

“Nice,” he said. He looked around a bit more, and his whole face lit up when he saw a pile of easily recognizable hockey gear, pushed almost out of sight in the corner. “You play?”

“Huh?” Sid asked, sitting down in his desk chair and following Zhenya’s gaze. “Oh.” He flushed again, and shrugged. “I used to. I don’t really have time, now.”

“But, you do play,” Zhenya said. “Any good?”

Sid sat up a little straighter at that, and he had that faceoff look in his eye again. “I’d say so,” he said. “Not like I played in the NHL or anything, but.”

Zhenya laughed. “I’m take you skating sometime,” he said. “And, we’ll see.”

“It’s a date,” Sid said, laughing a bit himself. He seemed to realize what he had said a moment too late. “I mean- not a _date_ , but- you get what I mean.”

It was Zhenya’s turn to go red-faced, now. “I’m know,” he said, and they just stared at each other again, the energy completely different than it had been before.

They both jumped when there was a knock on the door, and whipped their heads around to see Taylor standing there, looking at them as if she knew something they didn’t. “Food’s done,” she said. “Come eat, if you two aren’t in the middle of something.”

“We’re not,” Sid said quickly, standing up so quickly he almost tripped over his own feet.

“Mm.” Taylor spared them another look and turned to walk away. “Make sure you wash your hands before you come down.”

“Will do,” Sid said, almost sounding relieved once she was out of sight. He turned to Zhenya, and there was still color in his cheeks. It looked good on him, Zhenya thought, before he forced himself to shake the thought away. What was getting into him? “The bathroom’s down the hall, second door on the right, if you want to go first?”

“Yes, thanks,” Zhenya said, giving him a quick, tight smile before taking the obvious out he was being given. He closed the bathroom door behind him and braced himself on the sink, staring at himself in the mirror. As nice as hanging out with Sid was, and as nice as- well, he couldn’t call it anything else. As nice as _flirting_ with Sid was, he needed to remember why he was here. He didn’t come to America to chase skirts, he came to win Oksana back, and he surely didn’t want to run off one of the only two friends he had who wasn’t a continent away because he’d accidentally broken their heart. “Focus, Zhenya,” he told himself. He needed to reign himself in, before he ruined everything.

He stood there for a while longer, just breathing before he actually turned on the tap and washed his hands. When he opened the door again, he almost ran face first into Sid.

“Sorry,” Sid said, almost squeaking. “I just- you were taking a while, so, I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m fine,” Zhenya said, giving him the best smile he could muster. It wasn’t much, but it seemed like it was good enough for Sid now, because he smiled back and nodded.

“Just let me wash up, and I’ll meet you downstairs,” he said, pushing past Zhenya and into the bathroom. Zhenya barely had time to say “okay” before he closed the door behind him, leaving Zhenya to blink dumbly at the door. _Maybe_ , his mind thought traitorously, he wasn’t the only one who needed to refocus. He quickly shushed it, and went to go wait for Sid at the foot of the stairs.

As he usually did, Zhenya forgot the majority of his troubles when faced with food. “Is _amazing_ ,” he gushed to Sid’s mom the second his mouth wasn’t full, because he’d had his mother admonish him too many times for talking with his mouth full to forget that lesson. “Thank you for invite, let me eat with you.”

“You’re definitely welcome to come again sometime,” Trina said, and Zhenya grinned at her.

“Any _friend_ of Sid is a friend of ours,” Taylor said, and there was something about the way she said _friend_ that made Zhenya think there was more weight behind it than usual. Sid glared at her from across the table. “Like I said, we’ve heard a lot about you.”

That threw Zhenya for a loop. “Really?” he asked, looking at Sid. He looked like he wanted to melt again.

“Oh, yeah,” Taylor said. “Lots- only good things, obviously.”

“Only good things to say,” Zhenya said, smiling, but still looking to Sid. “I’m best.”

“From the way Sid makes it sound, that’s true.” Trina apparently decided she wanted in on what Zhenya guessed was some kind of teasing. “I’d have never thought I’d see him so interested in Russian hockey.”

_This_ made Zhenya smile, and quirk an eyebrow at Sid. “Russian hockey?” he asked.

“I might’ve looked you up.” Sid admitted, though he wouldn’t meet Zhenya’s eye. Zhenya had already seen him blush so many times today, he was starting to take it for granted. “After you said you used to play hockey.”

“And he _might’ve_ watched your highlights a million times,” Taylor said, her tone dripping with faux innocence. Zhenya grinned wickedly.

“You like what you see?” he asked. Sid turned even redder, and shrugged.

“You’re good,” he said, and then amended it. “You’re really good.”

“I’m best.” Zhenya said, and he had never felt it more than he did in this moment. “Is unfair; you see me play, and I’m never see you.”

“Guess you’re just going to have to make good on that promise to take me skating, then,” Sid said, finally looking Zhenya in the eye. He was smiling again, still shy, but Zhenya could read the challenge underneath it.

“Is date, like you say.” Zhenya said. Taylor pointedly cleared her throat.

“Before you two keep verbally making out, can you pass the cranberry sauce, Sid,” she said obviously teasing. Sid spluttered, and but Zhenya laughed, and that seemed to diffuse any remaining tension.

After eating, they all sat down in the living room and watched football- or, what Americans called football. Zhenya found himself unwillingly engrossed, sitting on the couch and cheering with Sid, listening to him call plays and yell at the television when something happened he didn’t agree with. His first American Thanksgiving, he decided, had been an absolute success.

And, well. If it was made a little better when, later on in the night, Sid moved closer and leaned his head on his shoulder- no one needed to know but him.

* * *

 

“Zhenya?” Sasha waved his hand in front of Zhenya’s face, and he was startled back to reality. “ _Focus_. I not come here and read these books for _me_ ; you need to learn cases. Russell v Sullivan.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Zhenya said, shaking himself. He’d found himself drifting a lot since their first break; since Thanksgiving, things had been different between him and Sid. Their relationship had somehow become easier and tenser that it had had ever been. It was simple, now, for Zhenya to lean into Sid when he laughed, or Sid to migrate from Zhenya’s desk chair to Sid with him on his already too-small bed while they studied and debated about cases. Whenever he did, though, it was getting harder and harder for Zhenya to reign himself in from doing something stupid, something that would mess up his whole plan for being here.

“Case of Russell v Sullivan.” Sasha read, tapping Zhenya’s book.

“Established that Russell had parental claim to child, even though he was just sperm donor.”  Zhenya rattled off. Sasha smiled.

“Gold star,” he said, and Zhenya let himself feel proud for a moment. Even if everything else about his life was getting more and more complicated, at least law school was getting easier to navigate.

There was a knock on his door, and Zhenya rolled to his feet to answer it. When he opened the door, he was greeted by the smiling face of Sid, and he couldn’t help but smile back. “Sid!” he cried, pulling him into a hug before letting him into the room.

“Hey, I just wanted to drop by before I went to work to, uh, give you something.” Sid said, shifting nervously. He pulled a little box from his bag. “I know it’s not… going home for Christmas, or anything like that, but. I saw this, and I thought you’d like it.”

Zhenya smiled when he took the box. “Is sweet of you, to think of me,” he said, but when he opened the box, he couldn’t help but laugh. It was obviously a matryoshka doll but, instead of painted red lips and floral patterns, Zhenya was greeted by the face of a cartoon penguin wearing a Pittsburgh jersey.

“I love it,” he said, setting it in a place of honor on his desk and pulling Sid into another hug. “Best gift, Sid, thank you.”

“Yes, well,” Sid said, wrapping his arms around Zhenya in return. “You’re the best, so.”

They stayed like that for a long moment before there was a noise behind them, and they both abruptly stepped away from each other. “Not best team,” Sasha said, looking at the doll. “But, is still hockey. I like this guy, Zhenya.” He turned to face Sid. “I’m Zhenya’s best friend.”

“Not my best friend,” Zhenya said, even though he kind of was. “Sid, this is Sasha- Alex. Sasha, this is Sid.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Alex,” Sid said, sticking out his hand for Sasha to shake. Instead, Sasha pulled him into a tight hug.

“You call me Sasha,” he said, but Sid didn’t reply. When he drew back, Sid looked like he was gasping for breath, and Sasha was grinning manically.

“I’ll leave you two alone, then,” he said airily, grabbing his things and going towards the door as if he hadn’t just tried to strangle Zhenya’s tutor. “See you later, Zhenya.”

“Bye,” Zhenya said, and when he went to close the door behind him, Sasha stopped him.

“Tap that,” he whispered to him in Russian.

“It isn’t _like_ that, Sasha,” Zhenya whispered back. “Go away.”

“His _ass_ , Zhenya,” Sasha said, and when Zhenya tried to close the door on him again, he said: “ _Think_ about it.” He managed to get in a wink before Zhenya closed the door in his face.

“Sorry about him,” he said when he turned back to Sid. “Sasha’s crazy. Spends too much time alone in tea shop.”

“It’s fine,” Sid said, still sounding like he was catching his breath from Sasha’s hug. Before Zhenya could say anything more, though, there was another knock on the door. He sighed heavily, ready to tell Sasha off, but when he opened the door Oksana was standing there.

“Zhenya,” she said, pushing her way into his room. She looked as beautiful as she always did, not a hair out of place as she scanned his room. Her eyes didn’t even linger on Sid for a moment as she passed her gaze over the room. Zhenya suddenly, desperately wished he’d taken the time to clean a little better this morning. “Have you seen Ilya? I’ve been looking everywhere for him.”

Zhenya was speechless, barely even processing the question. “I- yes,” he said, and then shook his head. “I’m mean, no. Not seen him.”

Oksana made a frustrated noise, and rolled her eyes. “Great,” she said, making her way back out the door. “We’re going to miss our flight.”

Zhenya just watched her go, mesmerized, and he was sure he would have stayed dazed for the rest of the afternoon if he didn’t hear Sid clear his throat behind him. “Uh,” he said. “Zhenya? I don’t… look, it’s none of my business, but…” He sighed, sounding frustrated at himself, and put his faceoff face on. “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but, even in _class_ , whenever Oksana steps in you just. Lose it.”

“Huh?” Zhenya said, blinking at him. His higher brain functions weren’t online again just yet.

“Like I said, it’s none of my business,” Sid said quickly. “But, maybe the thing in the way of people thinking you’re serious is, you know. Who you’re trying to impress with it?”

Suddenly, everything clicked. “You… yes,” Zhenya said. Of _course_ Oksana didn’t think he was serious; it wasn’t like he’d been able to show off too much of his newly found legal knowledge when he spent almost all of class staring at her and daydreaming about their wedding day. “I’m _blowing_ it, following her around like puppy- Sid, you right.”

“Right,” Sid said, and he sounded like he hadn’t thought Zhenya was going to agree with him on that.

“If I’m want her to think I’m serious, I’m have to make sure I’m actually show her,” he said. “Work harder, no more draw hearts on notes.”

“You’ve been drawing hearts on your notes?” Sid said. He sounded a little sad, though Zhenya couldn’t think of a reason why.

“You’re best,” Zhenya said, and pulled him into another hug. “Best, Sid, really. Thanks so much for help.”

“It’s been my pleasure,” Sid said, still sounding a little distant, even though he still hugged Zhenya back. He pulled away soon after, looking at his watch and sighing. “I have to get to work, but… I’ll see you later?”

“See you later, Sid,” Zhenya said, already moving to sit back down on his bed and get back to studying. He’d been working hard, but now? Now it was time to _really_ be serious.

“Yeah,” Sid said, sounding distant. Zhenya didn’t look up to see him leave, already engrossed in his textbook again.

* * *

 

“Mr. Lattimore wasn’t stalking; he was _clearly_ within his rights for visitation,” Oksana argued. “Russell v Sullivan.”

“Yes, _but_ , Russell was known to the mother,” Therrien said, crossing his arms and staring her down. “Lattimore was an anonymous donor.”

“Yes,” Oksana acquiesced. “But, without Mr. Lattimore’s sperm, the child in question wouldn’t exist.”

Therrien almost smiled. “ _Now_ you’re thinking like a lawyer,” he said. There was a murmur throughout the rest of the classroom of agreeance and congratulations, and it stopped almost immediately when Zhenya raised his hand, thought there was a round of exasperated sighs. Therrien looked like he was resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “ _Yes_ , Mr. Malkin.”

“That was good point,” Zhenya said to Oksana, and then turned back to Therrien. “But, did he make a log of every… sperm emission he made in life?”

A majority of the class laughed, but, Therrien looked interested. “Interesting,” he drawled, silencing the laughs. “Why do you ask?”

This was his chance. Zhenya took a deep breath before he stood, and continued. “Unless he keep track, talk to every woman to make sure there is no baby there, he have no claim to his child at all- why now? Why this sperm?”

“You do have a point,” Therrien hummed, considering. Zhenya bit back a smile.

“ _And_ ,” he said. “By Oksana’s standards, all… um.” He tried to think of a delicate way to put this. “… Masturbatory emissions where sperm not seeking and egg could be called…” He paused, half for dramatic effect, and half so he could make sure he was using the right term. “Reckless abandonment.”

The room was silent, and Zhenya thought for a moment that he’d blown his chance, but then Therrien spoke up. “Mr. Malkin,” he said, sounding surprised. “You’ve just won your case.”

Zhenya had to keep himself from jumping for joy. Behind Therrien, he could see Sid fighting a grin of his own, and out of the corner of his eye, he could see Oksana and Kovalchuk’s expressions, too. Oksana looked like she had just gotten the surprise of her life, and Kovalchuk looked like he’d just stepped in dog shit. That made him want to jump for joy all over again.

For the rest of the class, Zhenya was riding high on the victory; it was the same rush he got scoring a game winning goal, a half second before the clock wound down. Just before he’d left the classroom, when most everyone else had filed out, he heard a call of “Mr. Malkin!”

He turned to see Professor Therrien standing behind him. “I assume you’re applying for my internship?” he asked. Zhenya felt an almost manic grin push across his face.

“Way ahead of you,” he said, turning and pulling and envelope from his bag and handing it to Therrien. “And, thanks in advance for consideration.” He grabbed his bag, and rushed outside before he could embarrass himself by celebrating on the spot.

He hung around outside for a while longer, though, waiting for Sid, who grinned and ran over to him as soon as he was out of the building. “You were _amazing,_ Zhenya,” he said, sounding awed and proud in a way that made Zhenya flush with pleasure.

“Have best teacher,” Zhenya said, nudging him. “So, of course I’m make best case.”

“I’m not sure that’s the defense I would have told you to use,” Sid said, laughing. “But, it sure did work. I haven’t seen Therrien that impressed in… well. I’ve _never_ seen him that impressed.”

That made Zhenya preen all over again. “Bet I can impress you even more,” he said, and he didn’t think he was imagining the hitch in Sid’s breathing, though he tried to pretend he was.

“Yeah?” Sid said. Zhenya nodded.

“Ice rink a few minutes from here,” he said. “If you free, I’m meet you there after you grab gear. Play some one on one. I’m promise you game.”

“Oh,” Sid said, and if he sounded disappointed for a second, it disappeared as soon as it showed. “Yeah! Yeah, I’m free for the night. I’ll see you in a little bit?”

“See you soon,” Zhenya said, smiling at him one last time before he took off to his dorm. He had a smile on his face the whole time he was grabbing his gear, and the whole time he was walking to the rink. Sid had beat him there, it seemed, and was already on the ice by the time Zhenya walked in.

Zhenya was dumbstruck when he walked in, stuck in the spot watching Sid skate. He moved around on the ice like it was where he was meant to be, and Zhenya felt like he was watching some kind of magic.

He was shaken out of his thoughts when Sid spotted him and skated over to the glass of the rink. “You gonna lace up or not, Zhenya?” he asked, and Zhenya knew he was chirping from the glint in his eye and the tilt of his crooked smile. “Scared you’re gonna get beat by an amateur?”

“I’m _best_ ,” Zhenya huffed with mock offense. “Not get beat.”

He went over to pay and laced up, skating out to Sid with his stick in one hand, and a puck in another. Sid had grabbed his own stick, and he looked like he was going to vibrate out of his skin if Zhenya didn’t drop the puck soon. Zhenya knew that look well from being around professional hockey players, people who loved the game more dearly than most anything else in their life- hell, Zhenya had _been_ that person, before the choke hold of Metallurg had beaten it out of him. “Just bat puck around a little, I’m think,” he said. “See who score most.”

“You’re on,” Sid said, and they skated their way over to a faceoff circle. Sid, indeed, wore his ‘faceoff’ look, and that only endeared him further to Zhenya.

“On three,” he said as he set the puck down and they both got into position. “One, two-”

Before Zhenya could finish counting down, Sid had the puck and was moving down the ice with it. “Cheat!” Zhenya cried, but he took off after him with a grin on his face.

He stopped keeping score after ten minutes of play, when he and Sid had both scored so many times that it was a little absurd too, but they played for a good hour, both laughing and grinning as they skated out and sat on a bench, unlacing their skates. “I won,” Sid declared, and Zhenya made an affronted noise.

“ _I’m_ win,” he said. “You _cheat_.”

“I didn’t cheat!” Sid said, knocking their shoulders together. “You said _on_ three, so, _on_ three, I went.”

“Not fair.” Zhenya said, and Sid snorted.

“I’ll buy you dinner to make up for you losing, how’s that?” he said. Zhenya glared at him.

“I’m let you buy me dinner for you cheat,” he said. “Because I’m good winner.”

“Sure thing, Zhenya,” Sid hummed, kicking his skates off. He was sweaty and more disheveled than Zhenya had ever seen him, but he looked like he was _glowing_. Something about him said that Sid belonged on the ice, more than anywhere else Zhenya had seen, and he was struck for a moment by the thought that maybe he would have met Sid a lot differently if he’d stayed on the ice instead of going to school. “Come on, I’ll even let you pick.”

They ended up at Capital Teahouse, much to Sasha’s delight. “I’ll find you the best table for your date,” he assured them, and swept aside any protests they had about it not being a date. “Best table for my best friend, Sid.”

“You’ve met him _once_ ,” Zhenya said, though all Sid did was flush.

“And he’s much nicer to me than you; you’ve been demoted,” Sasha said, leading them over to a table. He grabbed some brightly colored plastic daisies from the front counter and placed them in the middle of the table. “There! Romantic, yes?”

“Not a date,” Sid said, sitting down.

After they’d ordered, and Zhenya had effectively banished Sasha from the table, he turned back to Sid. “You’re good hockey,” he said. “Play better than a lot of guys I’m know in KHL.”

Sid turned what was quickly becoming Zhenya’s favorite shade of red, the one he turned when Zhenya complimented him. “I wanted to go pro, for a long time,” he admitted. “Until I was thirteen, fourteen, I thought I was going to. People were interviewing me, already saying I was… the next Great One, or something.” Sid laughed, though there was little happiness to it. “Then, my parents got divorced, and… playing hockey like I was, it was expensive. So, I stopped, and I got a job when we moved, and I focused on going to college instead. And then, after college, law school.”

Zhenya frowned. “Not play in college?”

“I didn’t have time,” Sid said. “Two jobs, remember? No time for practice, or games. Sometimes the guys on the team would let me play shinny with them or something, though, that was nice.”

“Would have been best player,” Zhenya said vehemently, reaching across the table and taking Sid’s hand in his. “Next Great One and better, Sid, I’m sure.”

“Thanks Zhenya,” Sid said, squeezing Zhenya’s hand. When he turned his head away from Zhenya, he looked like he was blinking away tears.

Sasha chose that moment to come back with their drink and their food, which saved Zhenya from having to think of anything more comforting to say, but also made Sid draw his hand back, which was definitely something Zhenya wasn’t a fan of. “Am I interrupting something?” Sasha asked in a voice that told Zhenya he knew damn well that he _was_ interrupting something.

“No,” Sid said before Zhenya could give his emphatic ‘ _yes_ ’. “This smells good- thanks, Alex.”

“I told you to call me Sasha,” Sasha said, but he left them to their food with only a salacious wink for Zhenya.

He and Sid fell back into easy conversation as they ate, but the air from before had changed, and Zhenya couldn’t help but feel like he had missed his chance on something big.

_Focus_ , he told himself. Even though he wasn’t blindly following after Oksana like he had been before, he still needed to remember his end goal. He couldn’t let himself get pulled aside, dreaming about Sid and a life that they could maybe have when the safer, the _better_ option was why he was here in the first place.

It was hard to remember Oksana and that ‘better’ option, though, when Sid was laughing so hard at one of Zhenya’s stupid jokes that he was gasping and honking, or when he pulled him into a tight hug before they parted ways, Sid’s home one way and Zhenya’s dorms in the other. “This was the best night I’ve had in a long time,” Sid said, the way his breath was curling in the cold air and the red of his lips making Zhenya almost forget his goals entirely. “Thank you, Zhenya. Really.”

“No need to thank,” Zhenya assured him, trying not to sound as dazed and confused as he felt. “Was best night for me, too.” He couldn’t help himself when he added: “Every night with Sid is best night, but. This is best of best.”

Sid’s cheeks turned his favorite red again, and Zhenya knew it had nothing to do with the cold. God, he was an _idiot_ , doing this to himself, and doing it to Sid. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

‘Yes’ was on the tip of Zhenya’s tongue, but, he thought better of it. He needed some time to clear his head and remind himself why he was here, and it was becoming increasingly clear to him that that wasn’t going to happen with Sid within kissing- within _reaching_ distance. “I’m a little busy tomorrow,” he lied. “Tell Sasha yesterday that I’m come by and help him with… stuff.”

Sid’s face fell, and it hurt Zhenya’s heart to see it. He almost immediately wanted to take it back, say he’d cancel, but that just cemented the fact that he needed some time away from Sid, really. So, he said nothing, pressing his lips into a thin line. “I’ll see you around, then,” Sid said. His voice betrayed no emotion, and he’d schooled his face into an unreadable mask. “Just. Soon.”

“Soon.” Zhenya promised, with more feeling than he meant to put into the word. “See you soon, Sid.”

They both lingered there for a minute more, neither of them saying anything, or even looking at each other. After a second, Sid looked up, his faceoff look on his face again. “Zhenya, I-” he started, and then stopped. He was quiet for a second longer before he sighed and shook his head. “Never mind, sorry. I’ll see you soon. Night, Zhenya.”

With that, he turned and walked away. Zhenya wanted to go after him, to call out and stop him and ask what he was going to say, but he held himself in place. He watched Sid until he was out of sight, and then slumped, turning to walk to his dorm. This would be good for him, he tried to tell himself, but the majority of his being felt like he’d just lost the final game in a playoffs series single handedly.

When he got back to his dorm, and got in bed, he laid there for a while with the lights still on. He looked at his nightstand, and the ring box still sitting on top of it; months later, he hadn’t moved it, and the velvet covering on the box had started to gray with collected dust. Suddenly, Zhenya felt sick at the sight of it.

He shoved the box into the drawer of the nightstand and turned out the light.

* * *

 

After that, the dynamic between him and Sid shifted again. Instead of the balance between tension and ease they’d had before, almost every moment between them now seemed to be charged. There was more than one instance where Sid seemed like he was going to say something to Zhenya- something important, something that seemed like it would shift the axis of their relationship again- but ended up cutting himself off or shaking his head, and not saying anything at all. It was frustrating, and even more so because he kept having to bite his own tongue to keep from doing the same.

He was thinking of Oksana less and less, even as he tried to cut down on how much time he spent with Sid, and at night- well. At night, Zhenya couldn’t even begin to lie to himself and say that he had any thoughts of Oksana at all when he was alone in his room, and there was no one to call him out on what names were on the tip of his tongue.

When he used to get like this, he would take out his frustration on the ice- but, with no games to play or penalties to take, he funneled it into law instead. Even as his study sessions with Sid lessened, his grades kept getting better and better, and he at least had the fact that Therrien seemed to be warming up to him, and turning away from Oksana and Kovalchuk, to keep him going.

“Looks like you barely even need me anymore,” Sid had said after another mock trial. Zhenya had won, but, he didn’t feel as proud of himself as he might’ve. In fact, he felt kind of miserable. Sid sounded like he was joking, but, Zhenya could hear the hurt behind it.

He frowned and stopped walking entirely, prompting Sid to turn and look at him, concerned. “Zhenya?”

“I’m always need you,” Zhenya said, sounding angrier than he’d meant to. “You’re best friend- first person here to believe in me, make it so I can do all this.”

“I mean, you did most of the hard work. I just sat there and called out questions,” Sid said, trying to demure, but Zhenya wouldn’t let him this time.

“No, Sid,” he said, stepping forward and putting his hands on either side of Sid’s face. Sid seemed like he stopped breathing, and normally, Zhenya would have stepped back and reigned himself in, but right now he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“You’re best,” he said emphatically. “Best teacher, best friend, best thing to happen to me since come here.”

“ _Shit_ , Zhenya, I-” Sid didn’t cut himself off this time; his phone did, though, and he cursed more than Zhenya had ever heard him curse before as he stepped back and answered. “Hello?” he snapped, but his face immediately changed when whoever was on the other side of the line spoke. “Professor Therrien- sorry, sir, no, sir, I…” He paused again, mouthing ‘sorry’ to Zhenya, who just stood there helplessly. Sid flinched, and sighed. “Yes sir. Yes, sir, I can be there in twenty minutes.” He paused again. “I meant fifteen minutes, yes sir. Thank you, sir.”

Therrien seemed to hang up on him after that, and Sid heaved another sigh, looking from his phone to Zhenya and back. “I… I have to go,” he said, sounding just as regretful as Zhenya felt. “But. I’ll see you later- soon. Really, really soon.”

“See you really, really soon, Sid,” Zhenya echoed, and _god_ , he wanted to kiss him, his plan and Oksana be damned, but Sid took off running in the other direction before he could. Now, it was Zhenya’s turn to curse. He’d _really_ fucked it up this time, hadn’t he? His mind was no clearer than it had been before.

He found himself walking to Capital Teahouse, almost against his will; Sasha was crazy, but, he was also a good ear for Zhenya’s troubles. Instead of finding the teashop quiet as he normally did, though, he walked in on Sasha raving at someone on the phone.

“I don’t _care_ , they’re my dogs!” he said. “I deserve to see them- I bet you didn’t even know it was Chuck’s birthday tomorrow.” The person on the other side of the line said something, but all it did was set Sasha off again. “They’re my dogs, you can’t just-” Before he could finish his sentence, the other person seemed to hang up. Sasha made a frustrated noise and slammed the phone back into the receiver. He sank into his seat behind the counter, head in his hands.

“Everything okay?” Zhenya asked. Sasha’s head shot up, and he quickly wiped his eyes, but Zhenya could see he’d just been about to start crying.

“You caught me at a bad time,” Sasha said, obviously trying to make a joke of it, but his smile wobbled too much for Zhenya to buy it.

“You’re always listen to my problems.” Zhenya said, grabbing a chair from one of the tables and pulling it up to the counter. “Now, I think, is my turn to listen to yours.”

Sasha looked at him and sighed. “Before this,” he said, gesturing to the teashop. “I date a girl- Katya. Pretty, very nice. We together for… ten years? Long, long time- since high school. But, then, just as I’m ready to propose- bam! Dumps me for someone else, kicks me out of apartment, takes my dogs.” He seemed like he was about to cry again when he got to the last part, scrambling for a picture on the counter that Zhenya had never seen before. It was Sasha, surrounded by five big dogs- German Shepherds. “This is us, at annual photo shoot. That’s Gera, and Roy, and Bertha, and Chuck, and Ovi.”

Zhenya wrinkled his noise, confused. “Ovi?”

“It used to be my nickname,” Sasha said.

Zhenya couldn’t help but laugh. “You named a dog after yourself?”

“He reminded me of me,” Sasha said defensively, and Zhenya had to curb another laugh.

“No one should ever have to be without dog,” he said, remembering all the times as a kid he’d begged his mother for one. He’d still never had one, but, he could feel for Sasha’s being taken away. “I’m help you get them back.” Sasha’s face lit up.

“Really?” he asked, as if it were too good to be true. Zhenya nodded.

“You’ve helped me with my problems,” he said. “Now, is my turn to help you back. What’s point of having lawyer friend if not help you do law things?”

“You’re the _best_ ,” Sasha crowed, rocketing himself out of his seat and leaping over the counter to pull Zhenya into a tight hug.

“I know,” Zhenya said, even though he had to take a deep breath to keep from wheezing. “I’m always best.” He coughed, getting the rest of his air supply back, before he added, “I’m talk to Sid; we go by tomorrow, get them back.”

“ _Tomorrow?_ ” Sasha asked. Zhenya had never seen him smile so wide, and, Sasha always had a big smile. “I need to do so much- I need to get them beds, and food, and toys- and I need to make Chuck’s birthday cake, and-”

Zhenya put a hand up to stop him before he hyperventilated. “Need to sit down, first. Talk to me, tell me what I’m need to know before tomorrow.”

“Of course,” Sasha said, dragging him over to a table. It took a while, but Zhenya at least had most of the details and an address.

“Meet you there tomorrow,” he said, and after another bone-crushing hug, he was on his way out and back to his dorm. He pulled out his phone and texted Sid, figuring that it would go better than calling, both because of their earlier interaction and the fact that he was probably still at Therrien’s office. He texted the address Sasha had given him, and then added _Meet here tomorrow, please. Have case._

A few minutes later, as he was just getting to his dorm building, he got a text back. _A case? Like, a legal case, with a client? Zhenya, you know you don’t have a law degree yet, right?_

_Not real case, really._ Zhenya replied. _Helping Sasha with something, have ex-girlfriend who won’t let him see his dog babies. I say I’m help get back, and maybe you, if you’re want?_

There was a longer pause before Sid replied this time, and Zhenya had almost thought he was going to say no- but, Sid was nothing if not a constant surprise. _I’ll be there. What time?_ he said, and Zhenya allowed himself a fist pump before he replied.

_9 AM. )))))_ he said, and then quickly added. _You’re best, Sid. Thank you._

_Everyone deserves to be with the people that make them happy._ Sid replied, almost automatically. _Even if those people are dogs._

Zhenya smiled at his phone, even if his heart ached a little from the first part of the message, having no illusions about what Sid had really meant. His fingers hovered over the keyboard for a long while before he replied. _You right._ he said, simply, instead of all the other things he wanted to say. _See you tomorrow, Sid. Thanks for help._

_Any time. See you tomorrow, Zhenya._

Zhenya stared at that for a long time before he put his phone down, and moved to sit down at his desk. He made sure to leave his phone all the way across the room; he still had work to do, and if he was going to get it done, he needed a clear mind- and, thinking about Sid and what might have been if they hadn’t been interrupted again was _definitely_ not helping him at all.

* * *

 

“You actually made your dog a cake,” Sid said, sounding surprised as they stood outside Sasha’s old apartment, eyeing the bone-shaped cake Sasha was holding like it was his pride and joy.

“Yes, it’s his birthday,” Sasha replied, as if that was the obvious thing to do. “I even found dog friendly chocolate substitutes.”

“Which is why we have to get him back. Very dedicated, best dog parent,” Zhenya said. “You ready?”

“No,” Sasha said. “Katya is- I tell you earlier, she pretty, but also, very scary.”

“You can do it,” Zhenya said. “Just remember, is for dogs. Dogs are most important, yes?”

“They’re like my babies,” Sasha said.

“Then, have to get babies back,” Zhenya replied, and nudged him towards the door. “Go.”

Sasha took a deep breath, and knocked. There was loud barking from within, and a woman’s voice calling out “Shut _up_ ” in Russian before the door entered and a woman stepped out. She definitely was beautiful, but when she saw Sasha, her eyes narrowed into slits, and she reminded Zhenya of what everyone always said Medusa looked like.

“Oh, it’s just you,” she said. “Alexander, I already told you: fuck off.”

“I want my dogs back,” Sasha said, seemingly with as much courage as he could muster. “They’re _my dogs_ \- and, you didn’t even know it was Chuck’s birthday!” He pushed the cake towards her,

There was barking from inside the apartment again, and one of the dogs- Chuck, Zhenya supposed, seemed like he was trying to stick his nose out the door. “Oh, it’s your birthday?” Katya said, dropping down to the dog’s level, and talking in a patronizingly high voice. “Is it? Oh well,” She held the dog back, and turned back to Sasha, glaring and snatching the cake from his hands. “Best decision I ever made was throwing you out.”

With that, she slammed the door in their faces. Sasha slumped, staring longingly at the apartment when the barking picked up again. “Can you believe I lived with her for ten _years_?” he said, looking back to Zhenya and Sid.

Sid’s face lit up, like a switch had just been flipped in his brain. “Zhenya,” he hissed, tugging on his sleeve. “They lived together for _ten years_ \- do you know what that means?”

Zhenya thought about it for a moment, and then it was like the switch had been flipped in his brain, too. “Sid,” he crowed. “You’re _genius_ , best!” He stepped up to the door and straightened his shoulders, clearing his throat before he knocked.

The dogs went crazy again, and Katya was still glaring when she opened the door. Her eyes went wide when she saw Zhenya, though, and her face evened out into a coy smile. “Can I help you?” she asked, batting her eyelashes.

“Ms… Katya,” Zhenya started, a little unsure. “We, uh. Mr. Ovechkin’s legal team.”

The smile immediately dropped from Katya’s face. “Lawyers?”

“You might not know, but. State of Massachusetts recognizes you and Mr. Ovechkin’s ten-year relationship as a common law marriage.” Zhenya went on.

“Which entitles him to equitable division of property,” Sid cut in, and Sasha’s face lit up once more. Zhenya smiled at him

“Which means-” he began.

“I’m taking the dogs!” Sasha crowed triumphantly, pushing past Katya into the house. “Come to Papa, angels!”

Immediately, he was knocked back outside by a stampede of barking dogs, all of them jumping up on him, baying for his attention. “I miss you all so much,” Sasha cooed, petting them all in equal turns and kissing their faces before turning to look at Zhenya and Sid. “Thank you, both of you,” he said. “This is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me, ever.”

Zhenya smiled back, and suddenly, a feeling hit him like a brick. It was triumph, yes, like he got dominating people in debate and on the ice, but- this was better, so much better. It was light, and warm, and… “Is this what law is supposed to be?” he asked Sid, a little dazed. Sid looked to him, surprise clearly written on his face, and then erased by a softer, more personal smile.

“Yeah,” he said, soft enough that only Zhenya could hear- not that Sasha would care, now that he was trying to corral his dogs enough to put them on leashes and walk them home. “It’s why I did it, anyway. To help the underdog.”

Zhenya gave him a soft smile back, and was about to reply before he realized the joke, and burst out laughing instead. “Bad joke, Sid. _Worst_ ,” he wheezed, and that set Sid off laughing. Sid’s phone went off, though- Zhenya was starting to hate that phone, and its penchant for ruining the moment.

This time, it was a text, and Sid looked surprised instead of upset. “Therrien just got hired for a big murder trial,” he said absently. “Marchand, that NHL player that killed his captain; apparently, Conor got wind that he was posting the internship list today- in like…” Sid checked the time. “Thirty minutes, shit. I’m supposed to be there for that.”

“If we go now, we make it back in time,” Zhenya said. He turned to Sasha. “Would help you walk dogs back, but-”

“Go,” Sasha said, having put all of his dogs on their leads. “I can handle them; I remember how.”

“I’m come visit later,” Zhenya promised, even as Sid started jogging away. “Pet all your dogs!”

“I’m naming the next one after you!” Sasha called, and Zhenya couldn’t help but grin again as he took off after Sid.

They got back to campus just in time for Sid to push to the front of the crowd as Therrien was walking out of his office. “I need the best and the brightest,” Therrien said, ignoring Sid, which was the best possible outcome. “Congratulations to the chosen few, and as for the rest of you…” He shrugged. “Welcome to the beginning of a life of mediocrity. Mr. Crosby,” he said, turning to Sid. “I’m making you my co-council on the Marchand case. Do well here, and you could see your way to becoming associate not long after.”

Sid looked dazed, and like he was fighting a grin. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Zhenya wanted to rush up and hug him, but, he figured that wouldn’t be appropriate just yet.

“We start at 8 AM sharp on Monday morning,” Therrien said, slapping the paper to the front of his office door. “Make sure everyone is on time.”

“Yes, sir,” Sid said. Therrien didn’t look at him as he walked back inside his office. There was a pregnant pause where no one moved, and then, suddenly, everyone was rushing towards the paper like rabid wolves. Zhenya didn’t bother going up; as well as he’d been doing for the past while, he was almost positive he wouldn’t find his name anywhere on the list. Eventually, Sid was pushed out of the crowd, looking far more disheveled than he had a moment ago.

“I’m happy for you, so proud,” Zhenya said, reaching out and squeezing his shoulder.

“Thanks,” Sid said, grinning.

“Yes!” a cry went up in the crowd, and a grinning Conor Sheary pushed himself out of the clump, grinning as another group of people came away looked disgusted or crestfallen. “Score!”

“ _Ilya_ ,” Zhenya picked Oksana’s voice out of the crowd, excited. “We did it- we got it!”

“This is _perfect_ ,” Kovalchuk said, grinning. Zhenya felt his stomach drop as he did, down on one knee in front of Oksana. “And this is only the beginning.”

The crowd that was still there gasped, and Oksana did as well. “It’s _gorgeous_ ,” she said when Ilya opened the ring box. That was more of a reaction than Zhenya had gotten out of her when _he’d_ proposed, he realized bitterly.

“Marry me?” Kovalchuk asked. Oksana looked from the ring, to him, and then around the group of people still gathered there, waiting. She locked eyes with Zhenya, and, that was how she stayed when she answered.

“Yes,” she said, and Zhenya felt as if he’d been shot.

He didn’t stay to see them kiss, or to watch the people that were still left clap and cheer and congratulate the happy couple. He ran, and he didn’t stop running, not even when he heard Sid cry “Zhenya, _wait_ ,” after him. He kept running until he was in his dorm with the door locked behind him. He sank to the ground with his back against it, staring at the floor and feeling sick. He was angry, he was hurt; he didn’t know if he wanted to cry or throw something more. He thought, maybe, that he was just going to throw up instead.

He just sat there, though; he didn’t know how long he’d sat there when there was a knock on his door. “Go away,” he said, not bothering to disguise the way his voice broke.

“It’s Sid,” Sid said, as if it would be anyone else. He sounded unsure, and a little out of breath, like he’d run here, too “Can I come in?”

“Go _away_.” Zhenya said again, standing now. He didn’t want to see Sid- or, no. He _wanted_ to see Sid, really wanted to, but a mean, biting part of him blamed Sid for all this, anyway. If he’d been more focused, been more _serious_ , maybe none of this would have happened- maybe he would have won back Oksana, and then he would have been back in Russia by now, playing hockey and forgetting all about a dark-haired Canadian who skated like an angel and looked like sin and—

“I just want to show you something,” Sid said.

“I’m not want to see anything you have,” Zhenya spat back.

There was a pause, and Sid sounded hurt when he spoke again. “I’ll just slip it under the door,” he said. “And, if you want to open the door after you read it, you can.”

“I’m not _want_ to read it.” Zhenya said, but Sid had already slipped the paper under the door. Zhenya had half a mind to kick it back under the door, but, instead he picked it up. It was Therrien’s internship list, he knew from reading just the letterhead, and now he wanted to rip the door open and ask Sid why he wanted to kick him while he was down, but then his eyes were caught on one of the names.

_Kondakova, Oksana_  
Kovalchuk, Ilya  
Malkin, Evgeni  
Sheary, Conor

_Malkin, Evgeni?_ It couldn’t be. Zhenya blinked, and read it again. The list didn’t change. He unlocked the door and yanked it open. Sid, who had apparently been leaning against it, listening, stumbled, and almost fell on him.

“Is this joke?” Zhenya asked him, pulling him to his feet. Sid frowned.

“What?” he asked. “No.”

“My name is on list,” Zhenya said. Sid nodded. “Is mistake?” Sid shook his head. Zhenya’s brow furrowed.

“Then, is dream. I’m dreaming.” Maybe he’d fallen asleep when he got back or maybe, thankfully, this entire day had been an awful dream.

“You’re not dreaming,” Sid said. Zhenya was skeptical.

“Pinch me, prove it,” he said. He closed his eyes, and Sid did. Zhenya read the list again; his name was still there. “I made it,” he said, awed. “Sid, I _made it_.”

“I know,” Sid said, excited now. “You did it, Zhenya.”

“I did it,” Zhenya repeated, a grin slowly breaking out across his face. “I did it!” He was much louder this time, pulling Sid into his arms.

“I’m so _proud_ of you,” Sid said, muffled by Zhenya’s chest, but, he didn’t seem to care too much. “I know that what happened with Oksana earlier was shitty, but.”

“Who care about earlier?” Zhenya said. He was pretty sure he’d feel a little different, later, when he’d actually thought it over, but right now he was on cloud nine. “So what, Oksana want asshole husband? Not my problem.”

Sid looked confused. “I thought you loved her, though?”

Zhenya shrugged, and then paused before admitting: “Maybe not love her as much as I’m think I do. Maybe just love idea of easy, perfect life, with pretty wife and pretty kids. Now, I’m want something different.”

“What do you want now?” Sid asked.

“This,” Zhenya said. “Law, here; work on big trials, help people like we help Sasha. I’m happy, here.”

Sid grinned. “I’m glad.” he said. “I’m really, really, glad.”

“Owe it to you,” Zhenya said, his own grin softening out into something more private. “You help me so much, Sid- not just with work. Make me feel less alone, more like I’m belong here.”

“You _do_ belong here,” Sid said. “Of course you belong here, Zhenya, you’re _amazing_.”

“I’m best,” Zhenya said. “But, you best, too. After me.” He nudged Sid, so he knew he was joking.

“Of course, after you,” Sid laughed. He looked like he wanted to say something more again, and this time, Zhenya _wanted_ him to. There was nothing stopping them, now- except, it seemed, Sid himself, because he closed his mouth and shook his head again. “I’d probably better get going, start doing case prep,” he said, and it was on the tip of Zhenya’s tongue to invite him in and beg him to stay.

“Of course,” he said instead, and hated himself for it. “I’m see you later, yes? We go out, celebrate, both of us.”

Sid’s face lit up again. “Yeah, sure,” Sid said. “That sounds great. I’ll see you around, Zhenya.”

“See you, Sid,” Zhenya said, and he watched Sid walk down the hall and out of sight before he closed his door and slumped against it again, his chest feeling much lighter than it had before.

He went to his nightstand, took out the ring box, and tucked it in the bottom of his suitcase. He wasn’t going to be needing it anymore.


	2. act 2

Zhenya didn’t end up seeing Sid at all for the rest of the weekend; from the few texts they’d shared, it seemed like Sid was up to his ears in casework- and, like Therrien was making him do most of the heavy lifting.

For that reason, Zhenya was the first of the interns to arrive at the offices of Therrien, Bergevin, Tortorella, and Bettman. Instead of heading to the conference room he’d been told to meet, though, he made a beeline for Sid’s office- or, what Sid called his office. Zhenya was briefly confused, because the room Sid had given him directions to looked, at first, like a janitorial closet, sign and all.

He knocked all the same, though, and Sid’s voice called “Come in!” so, he did. “Morning,” he said. “I’m bring tea- Sasha say to wish luck.”

Sid looked like he hadn’t slept since Zhenya had last seen him, and he made an almost pathetic noise that Zhenya found unfairly endearing, and made grabby hands for the cup Zhenya offered him. “You’re the best,” he said, and the moan he let out when he actually took a sip of the tea should have gotten him arrested. Zhenya felt his face heating up. “I take back everything I’ve ever said,” Sid said. “Sasha is my new best friend.”

“ _I’m_ your best friend!” Zhenya protested, feigning hurt.

“You didn’t make me this tea,” Sid said.

“I _bring_ you tea,” Zhenya huffed. “See if I’m ever do again, if you love Sasha more.”

“You will, though,” Sid said, standing and grabbing some files as he balanced the cup in his other hand. “Because you love me, and you think _I’m_ the best.”

“Not if you love Sasha,” Zhenya said, even though he knew they both knew he was lying. “If you love Sasha, obviously, you crazy.”

“Fair point,” Sid said, taking another sip of the tea. The noise he made this time was much more muted, but, it still sent a shiver down Zhenya’s spine. “Come on; if we’re late to the brief, Therrien will have our heads, and you don’t want that on the first day.”

Zhenya frowned. “Still early, though.”

“Therrien’s idea of on time is fifteen minutes early,” Sid said, walking at a pace that Zhenya had to jog to keep up with, even with his height advantage. “And, on time is late.”

They made it there with only a few moments to spare, all of the other interns already in the room and situated. Zhenya seated himself deliberately beside Conor, at the end of the group, and Sid sat to his other side. He made sure not to look to Oksana or Kovalchuk, even as he could feel their gazes on the back of his neck.

Therrien swept into the room just as Zhenya was grabbing a pen, and started talking without so much as a good morning. “Our client is Bradley Kevin Marchand,” he said, gesturing to Sid for something. Sid scrambled to his feet, and over to a laptop in the corner, where he loaded up a PowerPoint. Therrien just kept talking. “Left wing for the Boston Bruins, arrested early Thursday morning in connection with the murder of his captain, Zdeno Chara. He was found standing over Mr. Chara’s body by one of his teammates, Tyler Seguin, which puts us in a… precarious situation. Marchand is known for his aggressive style of play, and for his nickname of ‘the rat’ on the ice.”

“So, did he kill him?” Conor asked, and Zhenya was almost a little proud of the kid when he didn’t flinch as Therrien looked his way.

“Mr. Marchand maintains his innocence,” Therrien said. “However, there is a not insignificant amount of evidence against him, and he refuses to give me an alibi for the time of the murder, or accept any kind of plea bargain- which, is where you all come in. I’m unable to… connect with Mr. Marchand, and I’m hoping that he might be more inclined to listen to people closer to him in age, or interest.”

“I’m sending you all to the jail to speak with him,” Therrien went on, pacing the room and looking each one of the interns in the eye. “Mr. Crosby, I am putting you in charge of leading our new interns, and getting me an alibi. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir,” Sid said, hopping to his feet. Therrien nodded without looking at him.

“Follow me, if you will,” Therrien said. They all filed out, and into cabs. Zhenya couldn’t help but look around in silent, somewhat terrified awe as they entered the jail, and were lead to a room. Therrien left them at the door, but not without pulling Sid aside. “Get me an alibi, or a plea,” he said, looking Sid in the eye.

“I understand, sir,” Sid said, voice devoid of emotion. When Sid turned back around, his expression matched the one he would make going into up to a faceoff, and he pushed past the rest of the interns into the room.

Brad Marchand was much shorter than Zhenya expected, which he found out when the man stood to as they entered the room. He was shorter than Sid, and just barely taller than Conor, who was one of the shortest people Zhenya knew. “Mr. Marchand,” Sid said, stepping forward to shake his hand. “We’re representing your legal team; I’m Sidney Crosby, and these are the brightest interns Therrien, Bergevin, Tortorella, and Bettman have to offer.”

“I was expecting a little more than interns,” Marchand said, but, he didn’t sound like he was too upset. In fact, he sounded much calmer than anyone accused of murder had a right to be.

“I assure you, they’re more than qualified,” Sid said. Marchand shrugs.

“So long as they get me out of here, I’ll take it,” he said.

“That is our goal,” Sid said. “But, to do so, we’re going to need you to help us out a bit.”

Marchand sighed. “If this is about an alibi, I already told the old one- Therrien?” he asked, and when Sid nodded, he continued. “I already told Therrien that he wasn’t getting one.”

“Even if it could save you?” Sid asked.

Marchand nodded. “If you put me on that stand and ask me where I was, I’m going to be forced to lie.”

“If you won’t give an alibi, you should accept a plea deal, then,” Oksana said frankly. Marchand wrinkled his nose.

“I’m innocent,” he said. “So, no.”

“With a plea deal, though, you’ll get out in a few years,” Kovalchuk said. “Isn’t that reasonable?”

“Reasonable to do time for the person who killed my captain- my _friend_?” Marchand said, humming like he was considering it for a moment. “Not fucking likely.”

“He’s tough,” Conor said, so only Zhenya could hear. He spoke up, then. “Mr. Marchand, I, uh— hi, big fan. I used to play hockey, too.”

Marchand smile. “You’re a Bruins fan?”

Conor’s face fell. “I’m more into the Penguins,” he admitted. Marchand frowned again.

“No accounting for taste,” he sighed, and then waved his hand dismissively. “Get out of here, all of you. I’m not gonna deal with my own lawyers thinking I’m guilty, along with the rest of the world,” He turned his back to them. “Tell the guard he can take me back when you go.”

Zhenya frowned, and watched as the rest of the group filed out, with various degrees of frustration clear on their face. Conor hung back for a moment, looking at him. “I’m catch up,” Zhenya assured him, and quickly stepped back into the room.

He sat down at the table across from Marchand and cleared his throat. “I’m play hockey, too,” he said. “Professionally.” he added, when Marchand didn’t turn around, but inclined his head.

That got his attention fully. Marchand turned around to look at him, frowning. “Where, for who?”

“Russia, for KHL- Metallurg Magnitorgorsk,” Zhenya answered. Marchand grinned.

“You Evgeni Malkin?” he asked. “I remember hearing shit, about some big hotshot leaving a team over there.” Zhenya nodded, and Marchand laughed. “Holy hell, man; you’ve got some balls, leaving that. You’re a legal intern now?”

“Go to Harvard,” he said. “But, is not important part. Important part is I’m not think you kill Chara.”

Marchand grinned. “Fucking _finally_ ,” he crowed. “You’re the first person to say so- well.” He paused, and he had an entirely different smile on his face for a moment. It was soft, and private, and Zhenya _definitely_ recognized that look. “Other than Patrice.”

“Who Patrice?” he asked, gently probing.

“My best friend, basically,” Marchand said, and oh, Zhenya was suddenly so sure there was more to it than that. “He’s awesome; we play together, on the Bruins.” Marchand’s smile turned sad for a moment. “I haven’t talked to him in a while, not since they put me in here, but. I read an article, where he said he knew I didn’t do it.”

“You miss him,” Zhenya said, and Marchand nodded. “Then, need to get you out of here- but, to get you out, have to have alibi.”

“I can’t tell you,” Marchand said, and instead of sounding angry, this time, he just sounded frustrated and tired.

“Everyone have secrets,” Zhenya said. “Little things, is okay.”

“It isn’t little,” Marchand said. “If we used it in court, and it got out- well. Boston’s a progressive city, and progressive team, but. It could ruin my career, and-” He cut himself off, and shook his head. “I can’t.”

“You want know _my_ secret?” Zhenya said abruptly. Marchand looked up, and he went on before he could stop himself. “In Russia, is… bad, for people who not… what people say normal. Girls who like girls, guys who like guys.” He paused. “Guys who like both, like me; is not okay. Okay for half, like girl, but not so much for like guys.”

“Shit, you’re-” Marchand started, but, Zhenya cut him off.

“I’m understand,” he said. “You’re protect secret, protect someone else. I’m understand, and I keep secret- tell, not tell. I’m still keep.”

Marchand looked at him for a moment, considering, before he broke. “Alright,” he sighed. “Patrice and I, we’re… kinda dating.”

“Kinda?” Zhenya asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“We _are_ dating,” Marchand admitted. “But, it’s not- you get it, how hockey is. Even here, it wouldn’t be good; hell, we’re both Canadian. We could get married, there, but like. It would still basically be career suicide. I was seeing him, that night, and we were…” He made a crude hand gesture. “And, I was gonna go out and skate with Chara in the morning, since we didn’t have games or practice for a few days. Then, the next morning, when I got to the arena, he was already dead.”

“I believe you,” Zhenya said. Marchand smiled at him, and looked like he was about to say more when the door opened.

“Marchand, your time’s up,” the guard, said, stepping into the room.

“You promised,” Marchand said hurriedly. “Secret, Malkin- to the grave.”

“I’m not tell,” Zhenya said, and Marchand nodded before the guard took him away. Zhenya stood, too, and stepped out, almost bumping into Sid when he did.

“ _There_ you are,” Sid said, sounding relieved. The rest of the interns were behind him, as was Therrien, looking unamused.

“Sorry, for make wait,” Zhenya said. “But, I’m get alibi.”

That made Therrien’s expression change. “Really?” he asked. “What is it?”

Zhenya frowned, lips pressed into a thin line. “Can’t tell.”

Therrien glared, “You what?”

“Promised him, on word, to keep secret,” Zhenya explained. “But, not worry. He not kill Chara I’m know.”

If Therrien’s eyes got anymore narrow, they’d have disappeared. “Mr. Crosby,” he said. “A word.”

Sid flinched, and looked to Zhenya before pushing past the group and over with Therrien.

“Malkin,” Kovalchuk bit out. “This is not some locker room thing. We _need_ that alibi.”

“I’m _promise_ him, though,” Zhenya said, trying to make them all understand. What was so hard to get about honoring your word?

Oksana made a frustrated noise. “Zhenya, don’t be stupid,” she said. “If you give Therrien the alibi, then you can _sail_ through law school and know you have a big job offer waiting for you at the end.”

“I gave him my _word_ ,” Zhenya said again. Oksana huffed.

“So, what; who cares?” she asked.

Zhenya was about to reply when Therrien said “Mr. _Crosby,_ ” and they all fell silent, not even bothering to look like they weren’t listening. “I gave you simple instructions: get me an alibi, or a plea.” he continued. “You are _zero for two_.”

“I-” Sid started to defend himself, and Zhenya was going to, too, but Therrien turned away before either of them could speak.

“Back to work,” he spat, pushing through the interns and snapping at them to follow. “All of you, with me- _except,_ ” he said, turning around again. “Malkin and Crosby. I’d rather not see the Red Menace or Ratty Corduroy again today.”

With that, he turned and left, leaving Sid and Zhenya behind. Conor turned and gave them a sympathetic look before he left, at least, and a hopeful smile, but it did nothing to lift either of their spirits. When Zhenya turned to Sid, he looked broken. “Sid, I’m sorry,” he started, and Sid turned on him before he could finish his sentence.

“I don’t _need_ you to be sorry, Zhenya, I need you to give me Marchand’s alibi,” he spat, storming towards the exit.

“I promised him I’m not tell,” Zhenya said, walking after him. “And, we’re not need it; we know he’s innocent, so, we do it the noble way. Right way.”

“This isn’t a movie, Zhenya!” Sid whirled around again, getting in his face. “I’m not interested in nobility, I’m more interested in saving his life!”

“No,” Zhenya said, pushing back. “You’re _interested_ in impress Therrien.”

Sid couldn’t fight that. “He’s my _boss_ ,” he said instead, exasperated. “And, if I impress him, he’ll make me associate- Zhenya, that’s what I’ve been working for…for _ages_.”

“So, we work hard. Make a case, make it so everyone know Marchand not kill that man,” Zhenya said. “We don’t need an alibi to do.”

“No,” Sid admitted. “But, it would _help_.”

“Yes, but, not if it breaks client’s trust, and risks our integrity.” Zhenya was sure Sid regretted teaching him how to argue, now, but, he was still using it to his advantage.

Sid looked like he wanted to fight him for a moment, but in the end, his shoulders just slumped, defeated. “Well, when you put it that way.”

“Exactly,” Zhenya said, throwing an arm around his shoulder. “My word mean something, and so do yours.”

“Why do you always have to be right?” Sid whined, and Zhenya laughed.

“With you, don’t have to try,” he teased. “I’m know better way you can impress Therrien, anyway.”

Sid frowned, “Really? What?”

“I’m love Sid’s bad clothes,” Zhenya said. “But, Therrien? Not so much.”

“My clothes aren’t bad,” Sid huffed, offended. “Didn’t your mom every tell you not to judge a book by its cover?”

“Also know ugly book never get read,” Zhenya argued. “Come on. We get afternoon off; I’m take you shopping.”

Zhenya didn’t think he’d ever seen Sid look more terrified.

* * *

 

“We could just go skating,” Sid said for the umpteenth time, as they walked into the department store.

“I’m say take you shopping, take you shopping,” Zhenya said, steering him towards the men’s section.

“I have clothes,” Sid argued.

“Ugly,” Zhenya sniffed, stopping in front of a rack of clothes. “I’m pick out best clothes, you see.”

“I’m not sure I trust you,” Sid said, but Zhenya just brushed it off, grabbing a jacket off the rack and showing it to him.

Sid wrinkled his nose, “It’s purple.”

“Nothing wrong with purple,” Zhenya said, holding it up to Sid’s chest. “Good color for suit; I’m have a purple suit.”

“Yeah, better not wear that one around Therrien,” Sid said, batting it away. “I think he’d crucify you.”

“Fine, no purple, then,” Zhenya sighed, and went back to looking. “Because your boss is boring.”

“He’s technically your boss too, right now,” Sid said. “So, _our_ boss is boring.”

Zhenya laughed, and tried to push aside the way the word _our_ being used in respects of him and Sid made his stomach do flips. “How about this?” he said.

Sid shook his head before he could say anything else. “Don’t like it,” he said.

Zhenya heaved another sigh, much more dramatic than the last. “You such a _diva_.”

Sid made an affronted noise. “Says the guy who took me to—this place,” he said, waving his hand around. “There are people just… walking around, spraying things at me. Someone sprayed me with Love when we walked in- I don’t even know what Love _is_ , Zhenya!”

“Sad life, if you’re not knowing what love is.” Zhenya hummed as he went back through the rack, smiling at his own joke. Sid didn’t seem to think it was as funny as he did.

“I’m not going to be able to fit any of this,” he said, his voice much lower than before. “Or, the pants, at least.”

Zhenya frowned, “Why not?”

Sid flushed, embarrassed. “Because of my-” he said, and then his voice dropped even more, so low Zhenya couldn’t hear what he mumbled yet.

“What?”

“Because of my…” Sid mumbled again, a little louder than before.

“Sid, I’m already not speak English well,” Zhenya sighed, a little frustrated now. “You’re going to have to talk louder, if you’re going to want me to hear you.”

“I have a big ass!” Sid said, and this time, it was much louder than the department store warranted. Some people turned to look at him, and he flushed even darker, dropping his voice back down to a low hiss. “My ass is too big to fit normal pants, which is why I don’t have any that fit in the first place- I can’t really afford to go to the tailor and get new ones made but once every few years, so.”

“You need tailor?” Zhenya said, choosing to latch onto that fact rather than the fact that Sid’s ass was so _amazing_ that it needed _special pants_ because he had to maintain some shred of sanity to be able to continue with his life. “Why not just say! I’m take you to tailor.”

“What? Zhenya, no,” Sid said, but Zhenya was already dragging him along and out of the building.

“Zhenya _yes_ ,” Zhenya said, already pulling out his phone and starting to search for the best tailors in the area. “You’re having nice ass, Sid; bad to hide it.”

“I don’t think I’m going to be impressing Therrien with my ass, Zhenya,” Sid said, shifting uncomfortably.

“No,” Zhenya hummed. “But, will impress other people. Whole courtroom stare at Sid’s ass, so distracted they say not guilty.”

“That’s unfairly influencing a jury,” Sid said, but, at least he was smiling now. “So, illegal.”

“Your ass _should_ be illegal, but, whole world get sad if it gets locked up, so.” Zhenya shrugged, nudging him. “So, let me take you to tailor.”

Sid managed to get nervous again in the cab ride over, but Zhenya just steered him into the tailor shop he’d found and pushed him up to the front counter. “He’s needing a new suit,” he declared to the salesperson there.

The salesperson looked Sid over and hummed. “We have a room into back,” he said slowly, eyes lingering in a way that Zhenya couldn’t tell if it was predatory or in awe. He bit back a pang of jealousy. “If you’d like to go back so we can get your measurements.”

Sid looked like he wanted to disappear, so, Zhenya pushed his ego aside and smiled at the salesperson- though, there may have been a few too many teeth involved, still. “Yes, we’re go- come on, Sid,” he said, pushing him forward again. The salesperson looked somewhere between afraid and annoyed when Zhenya sat himself down in the corner once Sid had stepped up so they could take his measurements. He was resolutely not looking at either Zhenya or the salesperson, flushed bright red down all the way down past where Zhenya couldn’t see under his shirt. He had the sudden, quickly pushed away desire to see where it really stopped.

They were there for long enough that Zhenya sort of zoned out, just watching the tailor come in and poke and prod Sid until he’d gotten his measurements. Sid seemed like he was relaxing, though, little by little, and Zhenya was pleased to find that he no longer looked like a scared animal when they actually got around to picking things out.

“I don’t like that—that one’s okay--” Sid went through, pointing at each swatch he was shown until he stopped on a dark gray one. “That one,” he said with conviction. “Yeah, that one.”

Zhenya looked over his shoulder and hummed his approval. “Good, yes.” He looked back to the tailor and asked, “How much for rush- quickest you can get it done?”

The tailor blinked at him. “I… today, probably?” he said. “But, it would be a considerable amount-”

“I’m pay,” Zhenya said quickly. “Get done today, I’m pay whatever.”

The tailor looked at him like he was something between an angel and a lunatic. Zhenya didn’t mind, so long as Sid got his suit before he had to see Therrien next; he wanted to see the look on everyone’s faces when Sid walked in, looking like some kind of model- not that, in Zhenya’s opinion, he didn’t always.

“I’ll see what I can do,” the tailor said cautiously, gesturing for them to go back out front. “If you’ll come with me, and leave a phone number, I can call you when it’s done?”

Zhenya nodded, and stepped back out front, and Sid scrambled to follow. He was quiet until they left the store, and then he turned to Zhenya and said, like he was steeling himself for something: “Okay, I’m not really sure how I’m going to be able to pay you back for this.”

Zhenya blinked. “Is no paying back,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m pay, is no problem. I have the money.”

“You just rushed a custom suit from a place that didn’t look cheap _at all_.” Sid said. “I’m not going to let you just… ‘pay whatever’, like you said. I’m paying you back for at least part of it.”

“You already have.” Zhenya said. Sid stared at him for a moment before he went on. “When I’m first come here, no one believe in me. Everyone think ‘is no way he can do law, be smart’- I’m think same thing, for a little while. But, you? You believe in me, help me, make me work even when maybe I’m not want to, because you see something no one else sees. I know I’m not get where I get without your help, and this… this is how I’m pay _you_ back.”

Sid just kept staring at him for a long moment, and Zhenya was almost afraid he’d said too much. A slow, soft smile bloomed across Sid’s face after a minute, though, and he almost breathed a sigh of relief. “I’m at least buying you lunch, then,” he said, and Zhenya wasn’t going to argue with him there.

As they were walking, though, Sid stopped again, and turned to him. “You know,” he said, voice soft. “I didn’t see anything that wasn’t already there. You still would’ve gotten here.”

“Not here, maybe,” Zhenya said. “But. I’m like here better, so, is good.”

Sid smiled again, and they walked on. They went somewhere and they ate, Zhenya was sure, but he was too distracted by the curve of Sid’s smile and the warmth that settled in his chest when he looked at it to focus on too much else.

He was startled when his phone rang, and even more startled to find that it was the tailor when he picked up. He nodded through the call and was grinning by the time he hung up. “I think we found magic tailor,” he said to Sid. “He already done.”

“ _What_ ,” Sid said, almost choking on the last of his food. “That was quick, holy shit.”

“Magic tailor.” Zhenya repeated. “Come on, I’m want to see what this actually looks like.”

Sid paid, and they walked back, and Zhenya was almost bouncing on the balls of his feet waiting for Sid to change once he’d actually gotten the suit in his hands. It had looked nice, there, and Zhenya was sure it was only going to look nicer once it was actually on him.

“Uh,” Sid said when he stepped out. “The mirror in there was kinda small; is there a bigger one, somewhere?”

Zhenya’s jaw dropped. “ _Yes_ ,” he said, both in response to Sid’s question and to the suit itself. “You need to see, come.”

He steered Sid over to a floor length mirror, and as soon as he saw himself, Sid’s expression almost matched Zhenya’s. “Woah,” he breathed. “I… I kinda look good.”

“Kinda?” Zhenya said. “Sid, you look _hot_ \- he looks hot, yes?” He turned to the salesperson from earlier, who was looking over Sid with a new glint of appreciation.

“Yeah, sure,” he said, but there was no manner of casualness to it. Zhenya grinned.

“How much?” he asked, turning back to the tailor. The price he named made Sid flinch, but, Zhenya was unfazed as he handed over his card.

“Therrien won’t know what happen, next time he see you,” he assured Sid as they walked out of the shop. Sid was carrying the garment bag with his suit in it like it was his child.

“I hope you’re right,” he sighed. He wrestled with getting his phone out of his pocket for a moment, and sighed when he checked it. “We’ve got court, in the morning.”

Zhenya grinned. “And, we kick ass,” he said, bumping Sid’s shoulder.

“We’d _definitely_ kick ass if you gave up Marchand’s alibi,” Sid muttered, but, Zhenya could tell he wasn’t actually trying to pry. He sighed again, and gave Zhenya another smile. “I should probably head home, start working on _some_ kind of defense.”

 

"See you tomorrow, bright and early," Zhenya said, and they parted ways. He was exhausted by the time he had gotten back to his dorm. However, he was smiling, even as he flopped face first onto his bed. His first day as a lawyer had maybe not had the _best_ start, but, the ending? The ending was well worth it. 

* * *

 

Zhenya woke up a little earlier than necessary the next day, but instead of heading for the courthouse where he was meant to meet the rest of his team, he instead made a beeline for the Capital Teahouse. He’d woke up nervous, and he knew that Sid would probably already be at the courthouse, so there’d probably be no relief for his jitters there.

There were a few people sitting at tables when Zhenya came in, talking quietly in English or Russian, but Sasha wasn’t sitting at his normal spot behind the counter. A little concerned, Zhenya pushed back behind it, and found him sitting in a chair by the back door, waiting. “Is someone sending you gift?” he asked, amused, and doubly so at the way Sasha nearly fell out of his seat.

“ _Yes_ ,” he said, a little dreamily. “You’ve been so busy chasing around your lawyer boyfriend, I haven’t had time to tell you about _my_ life, Zhenya; what kind of friend are you?”

“Sid isn’t my boyfriend,” Zhenya said. “And, I’m here now- I don’t have long, but.”

“You have long enough for this.” Sasha said, gesturing for him to pull up a chair. Zhenya had to scrounge for a stool, and, by the time he’d gotten back, Sasha was already looking longingly at the door again.

“What’s coming, then?” he asked. Sasha sighed.

“An _angel_ ,” he said, and went on when Zhenya looked at him like he’d lost a little bit more of his mind than usual. “The new UPS man—he’s _walking porn_ , Zhenya.”

Zhenya blinked. “Okay?” he said. “So, you’ve talked to him, yes? Ask him out?”

Sasha’s face fell. “No,” he admitted. “I _can’t_ \- I’m not a hockey playing lawyer, Zhenya; what have I got to offer?”

“Dogs and tea,” Zhenya said automatically, because those were two of the most important things to have in life. Sasha smiled a little bit. “And… well, not like you _ugly_.” Zhenya’d probably said otherwise before, jokingly, but right now Sasha was in need of a friend and some encouragement, so, he didn’t mind going back on it. “You can get him. Just have to… turn on the charm.”

“The charm.” Sasha said, sounding unconvinced.

“Flirt- you do know how to flirt, right?” Zhenya couldn’t believe that he’d been in a ten-year relationship before, and had never _once_ learned how to flirt. “Invite him in, maybe. Talk to him, compliment him. Smile.”

Sasha nodded, and looked like he was steeling himself to go to war. “Maybe should… relax, too?” Zhenya suggested, but, before Sasha could take his advice, there was a knock on the door and he scrambled to his feet.

“How do I look?” Sasha asked. Zhenya hummed. Truthfully, he looked like someone who had been woken up too early and had maybe gotten into a bar fight, what with the missing teeth, but, Zhenya wasn’t about to tell him that.

“Good, great,” he said instead, and gave him a thumbs up. Sasha grinned at him and took a deep breath before opening the door, and leaning casually against the doorframe.

“Hello,” he said, in what Zhenya assumed was his best attempt at a seductive tone.

“Alex,” said the man on the other side of the door. Zhenya leaned over to look at him and- well. The man certainly wasn’t _ugly_ , but he wasn’t Zhenya’s type at all. Sasha, he decided, had very odd taste in porn if this man was his walking definition of it. “I have a package for you.”

Zhenya snorted. Okay, so _that_ might have been the porn part.

For as unaffected as Zhenya was, though, Sasha seemed to melt. “Of course you do,” he said, sounding like he was a second away from swooning on top of the man. “And, I told you- call me Sasha.”

“Sasha,” the man repeated, sounding like he was on the verge of laughing. “If I do that, you’re going to have to call me Nicky.”

“Nicky,” Sasha sighed, and Zhenya actually had to run up and pull him back before he swooned and knocked Nicky over.

“ _Get ahold of yourself_ ,” he muttered in Russian, as low as he could manage in Sasha’s ear. Nicky gave them a look.

“New friend?” he asked. Sasha quickly pushed Zhenya off of him and smiled, showing all of the teeth he still had.

“Old friend,” he said. “Well… new-old. Zhenya comes to me with his problems, and I give him all the answers. He’s very troubled,” he stage-whispered to Nicky and winked, which actually made the man laugh. Zhenya just frowned; at least they were both equally susceptible to bad flirting.

“Well, then, hello,” Nicky said, and smiled at Zhenya. He smiled back, and resisted the urge to roll his eyes when Nicky seemed to barely even notice, gaze already back on Sasha. “I just need you to sign for this?” he said, hefting a package in one hand.

“Yes, right,” Sasha said, scrambling forward when Nicky offered him his pad and stylus. They smiled at each other dopily for a long moment before Nicky cleared his throat and dropped his gaze.

“I’d better get back to my route,” he said, and started to walk off. He paused after a few feet, though, and turned to face Sasha again. “And,” he said. “Do me a favor? Have yourself a super day.”

Sasha made an unidentifiable noise and watched him walk away before he came back to his senses and yelled after him. “You too!”

“You,” Zhenya declared as soon as Sasha had closed the door and slumped against it. “Are the worst at flirting. Worst I’m ever see; so _sad_ , Sasha.”

“Shut up.” Sasha huffed. “Don’t you have a murder trial to get to?”

“Not yet,” Zhenya said, even though he’d probably better be leaving sooner rather than later if he wanted to get there on time. “I much rather spend time watching your sigh about mailman, though.”

“You’re a bully, Zhenya.” Sasha said, picking up a clean dishrag and swatting him with it. “The worst kind of bully, and I don’t even know why I’m friends with you.”

“That makes two of us.” Zhenya quipped, dodging the towel. Sasha reared back like he was going to go in again, but, there was another knock on the door before he could. He frowned and dropped the towel.

“Hello?” he called. “Customers come through the front, please.”

“Sorry, no- it’s Nicky.” Zhenya was pleased to see the way Sasha’s eyes widened when he heard. “Did I leave my stylus?”

Sasha looked down in his other hand, and, sure enough, he was holding it. “Yes!” he said. “Sorry, yes, let me just-”

He ran to the door and pushed it open, and was obviously about to apologize more when there was the sound of the door connecting with something, and Nicky’s cry of “Shit!”

Sasha dropped to the ground, panicking and apologizing profusely, and Zhenya stepped forward to see Nicky on the ground, holding his nose. “Call an ambulance or something,” Sasha hissed, looking up at him. Zhenya scrambled for his phone; he was most definitely going to be late.

* * *

 

Zhenya made it to the courthouse with just enough time to spare, and was surprised to find Sid coming in the same time as him.

“I had to get some statements,” Sid said when Zhenya gave him a look. “They’re talking to some beat reporter today; apparently, he’s got sources that say Marchand killed Chara because he wanted the C.”

“But, he _didn’t_ kill Chara,” Zhenya said as they walked down to the courtroom. Sid sighed.

“Yeah, _I_ believe that, and _you_ believe that, but, I’m pretty sure no one else in that room does. It’s our job to be prepared for everything, and to change their minds.”

Zhenya nodded and steeled himself. They entered the courtroom, and Zhenya took a seat next to Conor at the end of the defense’s table, as Sid walked around the front to sit at Marchand’s other side.

“Crosby?” Therrien called out, and Sid stopped. Therrien didn’t sound angry, though- in fact, he sounded mildly impressed. “By god, is that you?”

Zhenya could see a slow smile crawling across Sid’s face. “Evgeni took me shopping,” he said. Conor whistled.

“One for Malkin,” he said, offering Zhenya a high five, and Sid laughed before court was called to order.

Once the formalities were out of the way, and the witness was called to the stand, Zhenya could tell on sight that he didn’t like him. He looked like so many sleazy beat reporters Zhenya had seen himself, the ones who didn’t much care for the teams they reported on, or the players themselves, only wanted to poke and prod stories out of them. As he spoke, Zhenya could feel the slime dripping from every word the man spoke, and he could see Marchand grinding his teeth across the table.

 “— And, you can attest to hearing- _directly_ from the defendant, Mr. Marchand- that he, quote, ‘would do anything to wear the letter’, referring to the letter denoting captaincy on the team?” The prosecutor paced in front of the courtroom, speaking to the reporter without looking at him.

“Yep.” The reporter looked far too relaxed for someone being interrogated, leaning back in his seat like he was talking to a buddy in a bar. “Got an interview with him during a game one day- bad game, mostly, for the Bruins. He was _pissed_.”

“He’s fucking _lying_ ,” Marchand hissed through gritted teeth. “I’ve never talked to him- _no one_ talked to him, he’s a bastard. Almost made Pasta cry awhile back; basically drove Segs out of town.”

“It’s his word against yours,” Therrien said. “He wrote the story; there’s no way you can _prove_ that you didn’t talk to him.”

Brad looked like he was just short of jumping out of his seat, and Zhenya frowned. Down the table, Sid had his faceoff look on. “There has to be _something_ ,” he whispered, more to himself than the rest of the team.

Zhenya squinted at the man as the prosecutor kept talking. “Is there anything Mr. Marchand told you that gave you the impression that he might _hurt_ Mr. Chara, in order to gain captaincy?” he asked.

“Maybe,” the reporter said. “After he said that he’d do anything… kinda offhand, but. He said ‘I’d _kill_ for the C.’”

The courtroom gasped theatrically, and the prosecutor smirked. “No further questions, your honor.” he said, and he gave Therrien a look as he walked back to his table. Therrien looked like he was about to explode.

“Your honor, I’d like a ten-minute recess.” he said, and the judge nodded. Before her gavel could fall, though, a tinny jingle broke through the courtroom, and it took Zhenya a moment to realize that the phone going off is his. The judge and Therrien both glared at him.

“Excuse me,” he said, standing, and trying to ignore the fact that he could see Kovalchuk and Oksana sharing a look out of the corner of his eye. “I’ll take outside.”

The judge’s gavel fell, and the courtroom broke. “I cannot _believe_ I’m going to lose this case over some shoddy tabloid reporter,” Therrien hissed as he walked away.

“ _We_ know it’s perjury, all we have to do is prove it wrong,” Sid said, obviously trying to placate him.

“We have no way to prove it wrong, Mr. Crosby,” Therrien said. “So, until I get a way, it’s not _perjury-_ it’s _motive._ ”

Zhenya was frowning as he answered his still ringing phone. “Hello?”

“Zhenya!” Sasha’s voice crooned from the other side of the phone. “How’s court going? Good?”

“Not really,” Zhenya sighed. “Don’t want to talk about it; is Nicky okay?”

“Better,” Sasha said, and then paused. “Well, no, he’s not really okay. I broke his nose.”

“Oh my _god_ , Sasha,” Zhenya said, biting back a laugh.

“ _But_ ,” Sasha went on. “I got to spend _four hours_ with him in the ambulance and at the hospital, and it was the most romantic time I’ve had in my whole life.”

“You need to get better life,” Zhenya muttered, but, Sasha seemed like he didn’t even hear him.

“So, I wanted to thank you, for the pep talk,” he said. “Because, now, I have a date.”

“More time in hospital isn’t a date, Sasha,” Zhenya snorted.

“Not _now_ ,” Sasha huffed. “Later this week. He’s walking my dogs with me, and we’re going to dinner.”

 Zhenya smiled. “Sasha, that’s great,” he said. “Make sure to watch doors from now on, yes?”

“Fuck _you_ , Zhenya I--” Zhenya was sure Sasha went on, but he no longer heard him. Standing in the corner, he saw the reporter, talking on the phone. He slowly edged closer, keeping his phone up as Sasha raved on.

“Yeah, yeah; it’s gonna make a _great_ story- I can sell a first-person account.” the reporter said, sounding so smug it made Zhenya sick. “Who knew that a few flubbed quotes could pay off, huh?”

Zhenya’s blood _boiled_. “Sasha,” he said into the phone. “I’m call you back, later.”

“I have to go check on Nicky, anyway,” Sasha said. “Bye, Zhenya- I’ll see you later, yes?”

“Yes, bye.” Zhenya said quickly, and as soon as he put his phone away, he rushed back into the courtroom. “Quotes are fake.” he said in a rush, making everyone on the defense team’s heads snap up. “Reporter, out in hall- I hear him say himself, on phone.”

“Inadmissible,” Therrien said. “Outside the courtroom, it doesn’t count.”

“But, if he _say_ , and other people already know, then there _has_ to be a way to prove that Marchand didn’t talk to him,” Zhenya said.

“If it isn’t a recorded interview- which it wouldn’t be, especially if it didn’t happen- and there’s no video, we can’t prove it one way or the other,” Oksana said.

Zhenya frowned, and then something hit him. “He said ‘during game’,” he said slowly. Everyone just stared at him. “He said, talked to him _during game_. Probably trying to say it happen during intermission-”

“But I didn’t talk to him during the intermission.” Marchand said.

“ _Exactly_ ,” Zhenya said. Oksana made a frustrated noise.

“ _Zhenya_ ,” she said, with no endearment in her tone, only condescension. “We _already know this_.”

“What game did he say he interviewed during?” Zhenya said, ignoring her. Sid frowned and flipped through some papers.

“Uh—there was one last week, against Ottawa,” he said. “Bruins lost, but it was four to five- they were down two, going into the third period, and the last goal that was scored was-”

“ _Mine_ ,” Marchand said. “I remember- it was me, and Bergy with the assist. They interviewed me for NESN that night.”

“During the intermission?” Sid asked, and Marchand nodded. He grinned. “Intermissions are seventeen minutes long, and most intermission interviews are usually about three- and then, you have to go back to the locker room, because the coach is talking, and-”

“There’s no way he could have given _two_ intermission interviews,” Zhenya finished, grinning back at Sid. “No time, and if we can show he gave other interview, and maybe get someone to say that he was in locker room after-”

“We’ve proved it!” Sid said.

“Find that interview,” Therrien snapped. “And any proof that he went directly back to the locker room after.”

“It’s in the video,” Sid said, sounding giddy as he turned his phone around. “There’s a shot of him going into the locker room at the end, look.”

“Get this entered into evidence,” Therrien said to Sid, and then turned to Zhenya. “Good work, Mr. Malkin.”

“I just know hockey,” Zhenya said, because really, that was it. Therrien hummed thoughtfully.

“Yes,” he said, and there was something behind his words that Zhenya couldn’t read. “Yes, it seems you do.”

When court was called to order, and it was their turn to cross-examine the reporter, Therrien nodded to Sid. “Your evidence,” he said. “You have the floor.”

Sid looked like he was biting back a smile as he stepped up to the front of the courtroom. “You claim to have interviewed Mr. Marchand during intermission between second and third period of the game that took place on the evening of January twenty-first, yes?”

“Yes,” the reporter said, nodding. “Twenty first, they were playing Ottawa. Bad game.”

“Yes,” Sid said. “Sir, would you happen to recall who scored the last goal of the game, before the intermission.”

“Uh,” The reporter paused for a second, thinking back. “Marchand? Yeah, yeah, it was him. Crowd went wild.”

“Yes,” Sid said again. “Your honor, I would like to submit Mr. Marchand’s intermission interview with NESN into evidence.”

“For what reason?” the judge asked.

“Your honor, it has come to the attention of the defense that this man is not only perjury, but libel,” Sid said, and there was a sharp gasp from the rest of the courtroom. The reporter went pale, but, the judge looked unimpressed.

“Do you have any evidence backing up these claims, Mr. Crosby?” she asked.

“They’re in the video, your honor, if you’d allow it to be shown,” Sid said. The judge thought it over for a second, and nodded.

“Proceed,” she said. It took a few moments for the video to be set up, and once it was, Sid let the video play through in its entirety. He paused it, though, just at the end, when there was the shot of Brad going into the locker room.

“For those on the court, and on the jury who are unaware,” he said, pacing. “Intermissions between periods of play in televised hockey games are seventeen minutes, and the average intermission interview- which you have just seen- lasts three minutes and several seconds. After this, players return to the locker room to talk to coaches, and rest before the beginning of the next period. As you can clearly see, immediately after the interview, Mr. Marchand enters the locker room, and would not have left until he had to return to the ice. Therefore, there is no possible way he was available to give the witness _any_ of the information he is claiming to have.”

“Now, see here-” The reporter tried to cut in, and Sid turned on him.

“You couldn’t have gotten the quotes from Mr. Marchand,” he said. “So, sir, tell me this: did you fabricate the quotes in order to tarnish Mr. Marchand’s reputation, and write a story with them?”

“I- I- look, man, I have deadlines to meet,” the man stuttered.

“ _Did you_ fabricate the quotes in order to tarnish Mr. Marchand’s reputation, and write a story with them?” Sid repeated, levelling his faceoff look at the reporter, who looked terrified. Zhenya felt a sudden burst of pride and… something else he wasn’t sure was entirely appropriate for the courtroom, which he tried to push aside.

The reporter was silent for a moment before he slumped, and sighed. “Yes,” he said. “ _Yes_ , okay, yes.”

A murmur broke out through the courtroom, and the judge had to bring things back to order. Sid nodded to her, and turned away from the stand. “No further questions,” he said as he walked back towards the table. Zhenya couldn’t help but grin at him, and he saw Marchand offer Sid a subtle fist bump as he sat down.

The rest of the day of court was almost entirely uneventful, after all that, and every time Therrien gave Sid the wave to go up, he dominated the courtroom. Zhenya was _definitely_ proud and _definitely_ fighting the urge to kiss him by the day was done, and the only thing that probably kept him from doing it once they were outside the courtroom was Therrien clearing his throat. “Back to the offices, I believe,” he said, sounding cheerier than Zhenya had ever heard him. “I think we all deserve a little celebrating.”

Everyone broke off after he walked away, dismissing them without a word, but Zhenya caught Sid’s wrist before he could get too far. “Good job,” he said, grinning. “You were _amazing_ , Sid- just like you are on ice. Best.”

Sid flushed, but grinned. “Wouldn’t have been able to do it without you,” he said. “Really. The idea was yours Zhenya.”

“I just know hockey,” Zhenya said again, but Sid wouldn’t let him not take the credit.

“You know a lot of things,” Sid said. “You’re a lot smarter than you give yourself credit for.”

Zhenya’s mouth went dry at that, unsure how to respond, so he just smiled, and let go of Sid’s hand. “Meet you at office,” he said, giving it one final squeeze. “We celebrate.”

“Yeah,” Sid said. “See you there.”

The celebration was small and, Evgeni thought, a little dull, but he got to stand by Sid’s side as he became flushed with champagne and victory, _and_ he got to look Oksana and Kovalchuk in the face after helping break the case. Every sip of champagne Oksana took, it looked like she was sipping on spoiled milk, but- Kovalchuk didn’t look like he was upset at all, really. As a matter of fact, he looked more… considering, than anything, every time Zhenya caught him looking at him. Then again, every time Zhenya caught him, Kovalchuk looked away and pretended he hadn’t been looking in the first place, so, he wasn’t sure what to think of that.

“I’d like to propose a toast,” Therrien said, breaking through Zhenya’s thoughts. “To Mr. Crosby’s talented work in the courtroom today, and… to Mr. Malkin, for thinking on his feet. Without him, we would not be here.”

Zhenya flushed, and smiled. “I just know hockey,” he said again. Oksana snorted.

“Yes,” she said. “Who knew knowing _hockey_ would ever be useful anywhere but on the ice?”

She laughed, and at the rest of the interns did so as well, politely, but Therrien seemed unamused. “Yes, hockey,” he drawled, staring at Oksana. “Without _hockey_ , we would not be here- we’d be dead in the water. _And_ , he was capable of building a steady defense _without_ giving away Marchand’s alibi, and compromising our client’s trust. Though, it would have been much easier with it.” He gave Zhenya a look, but, he didn’t even flinch. He turned back to Oksana after that. “Which, Ms. Kondakova is more than I can say for you, and the rest of your peers.” Therrien turned away entirely. “Do me a favor, would you? Get me a coffee.”

Oksana turned bright red, and blinked. “But… we’re drinking champagne?”

Therrien didn’t seem to care. “Black, two Splendas, please.”

Zhenya wasn’t sure if Oksana was shocked or fuming as she left the room, Kovalchuk hot on her heels. He gave Zhenya one last considering look before he left the room, but, Zhenya still wasn’t sure what to do with the look, so, he pushed it aside.

“It’s… getting late,” Conor drawled, and Sid nodded, a little too enthusiastically.

“Should probably head out,” he said, putting a hand on Zhenya’s arm. “I’ll, uh, see you tomorrow. Professor.” Sid nodded to Therrien, and he and Conor almost bolted from the room. Zhenya stared at them as they walked away, feeling a little bit like he’d just been left out in the cold.

“I’m… should probably go, too,” he said slowly. Therrien huffed.

“Nonsense,” he said, gesturing for Zhenya to sit down. “Stay awhile.”

Zhenya felt a cold feeling creeping up the back of his neck, but, he sat down all the same. Therrien didn’t. He started pacing, and he reminded Zhenya eerily of the general managers and owners of Metallurg, and not in any way that’s good. “You’ve been doing really well here,” Therrien said slowly. “Doing law- I’d almost say I was proud, Mr. Malkin.”

Zhenya tried for a smile. “Thank you,” he said. “I’m… trying, hard. This internship means a lot.”

“Glad to hear it,” Therrien said, standing just behind Zhenya. Zhenya couldn’t see him, but, he could feel the predatory smile on Therrien’s face. “What if I told you I had a better job for you?”

Zhenya blinked. “Job?” he said slowly. “I’m… thank you? Haven’t graduated yet, not lawyer.”

Therrien laughed, but there wasn’t any warmth to it. “Not here,” he said. “I have… an investment, you see. A hockey club- it isn’t big, it isn’t… well, if I can be frank with you, it’s not that good. But, with you? You could make it _fly_.”

Zhenya’s brow furrowed. “I’m… not understanding, sorry.”

“Let’s cut the shit, Malkin,” Therrien said, stepping in front of him again. “I was at your admissions meeting; I spoke on your behalf. But, Harvard? Harvard isn’t where you belong. Law, it’s nice, and you can work at it- but, you’ll never _belong_. You belong on the ice, playing the game.”

“Not what I want,” Zhenya said, because, it _wasn’t_ , not anymore. He missed hockey, missed home, but he really felt like he was doing what he was supposed to do here.

“You don’t know what you want,” Therrien said, and it was almost word for word what Zhenya had heard before, from the managers back home, trying to coerce him into contracts and deals. “I can help you.”

Zhenya’s jaw clenched. “I don’t want your help,” he spat. His hands curled into fists, and he was looming over Therrien when he stood. “I know what I want, where I’m supposed to be.”

“Think about it,” Therrien said, seemingly unaffected. That only made Zhenya angrier.

“I’m not have to,” he said. “ _No_. I’m not play for your team, for _any_ team.”

Therrien frowned, and sighed, “Have if your way, then. I thoughts you were smarter than that,” he said. “You’re dismissed. I would recommend you not show up to class, in the future.”

“What?” Zhenya’s face fell. “Is… what? You only give me internship, for _hockey?_ ”

“It’s been nice working with you, Mr. Malkin,” Therrien said, turning away. “You can see yourself out.”

Zhenya stared at him for a long moment before he turned away and left the room. When he walked out of Therrien’s office, he almost knocked over Oksana and Kovalchuk both. “Didn’t take you long to mess up,” Oksana snorted. “Congratulations, Zhenya. Such a good lawyer, he wants you on his hockey team.”

“ _Oksana_ ,” Kovalchuk hissed, but, Zhenya didn’t pay her any mind. He pushed onward, and out of the building.

“Zhenya!” He heard Sid’s voice call as he started down the street. He froze where he stood, even as he urged his feet to keep walking forward. “There you are- intern of the year, huh?”

“Not so much,” Zhenya snorted, turning to face him. His hands were still balled into fists, and he hated himself for the way his voice wavered. The smile on Sid’s face wavered, and then fell entirely.

“Hey,” he said, voice soft now. “Hey, what’s wrong? Did something happen?”

“I just—thank you,” Zhenya said. “For believing in me, treating me good. Is… first person who do so.”

“I already told you, I didn’t do anything but show you what was already there,” Sid said, stepping forward and taking his hands, trying to uncurl his fists. “Zhenya, what’s _wrong_ , what happened?”

“Therrien offered me a job,” Zhenya said, and Sid’s face lit up again.

“That’s _great_ ,” he said. “Zhenya, before you’ve even gotten through your first year, that’s unprecedented, I’m so--”

“Not at law firm,” Zhenya said, tearing his hands away. “On hockey team he own. Only reason he give me internship is to get me to join team. I say no, he fired me. Made very clear I’m not belong here.”

“Of _course_ you belong here,” Sid said, and he sounded almost angry now. “He had no right to say that- you belong here, whether he thinks so or not.”

“I don’t think so,” Zhenya said, stepping away. “I’m come for stupid reasons, stay for stupid reasons. Should never have left home.” _God_ , Seryozha was going to be so disappointed. His mother was going to be so disappointed, and his father, and Denis was going to laugh, but at least he’d be _home_. He could go back to Metallurg, probably, find someone new, someone who wasn’t Oksana and _definitely_ wasn’t Sid, and he could, slowly, forget all this was ever more than a silly dream.

“We can do something, fight this,” Sid said. “ _Zhenya_ , you fight _everything_ ; you’re just going to let it end here?”

“Nothing left to fight, Sid,” Zhenya snapped, starting to turn away. “Nothing left to stay for.”

“Stay for _me_ ,” Sid said, and Zhenya stopped walking. He didn’t turn back around, didn’t _breathe._ “I… the timing’s bad, I know it is, but—you’re the best thing about this place. You reminded me why I loved law so much in the first place, why I loved _life_ , and… we can do something, fix this.”

Zhenya almost turned around. For a half second, he _hoped_ , because if this meant what he thought it meant, then maybe, maybe things would be okay.

Except that they wouldn’t. Zhenya’s shoulders slumped. He was still out an internship, still all put exiled from the classroom, and he knew that fighting this was going to an uphill battle, probably with no end. “I’ll miss you,” he said, ignoring the way his voice broke on the last word. “So much. You were… best thing to happen to me, too. Not just here.” That was as close as a confession as he could let himself get, but, Zhenya could tell that Sid could hear the meaning under it with the pained noise he made.

“Zhenya, _stay_ ,” he said again, and Zhenya wanted to, _god_ , he wanted to, but he couldn’t.

 “Visit sometime, yes? When you start making big money,” he said, and started to walk away again. Sid didn’t follow; he didn’t know why he expected him to.

As soon as his door closed behind him, Zhenya collapsed to the floor, and surprised himself by _not_ crying. He felt tired, and numb, but he consoled himself by saying that it would all be over soon. He should have taken the chance to leave on the first day, when he’d had the chance.

Then, though, he wouldn’t have met Sidney, wouldn’t have met Sasha, and probably would have never realized what he could have been, outside Magnitogorsk and outside hockey. _Ignorance is bliss_ , he tried to remind himself. Not knowing, even if it wouldn’t have been _better_ , would have been far kinder.

He sat there for a while, but, eventually, he made himself stand up, and at least get into bed. Tomorrow, he’d pack, and book a flight, and in a few days this would all be over. No more law. No more Harvard.

No more Sid.

He turned out the light, and didn’t sleep.

* * *

 

In the morning, he was packed, and his flight was booked home. He was putting off telling his family or Seryozha about it; it would be better to just show up, and not give them time to make him doubt himself again.

He would have felt a little guilty, though, about leaving without telling Sasha goodbye, so, he headed to Capital Teahouse, bags in hand. He almost backed out when he saw Sasha and Nicky sitting at a table, holding hands and laughing, but Sasha saw him before he could, and jumped to his feet.

“Zhenya,” he said. “Best friend, what can I do for you?”

“Just come to say goodbye,” Zhenya said, forcing himself to be stiff, least he start crying in the middle of the teahouse. He hadn’t yet, and he didn’t plan to now.

Sasha blinked. “Goodbye?” he said. “Where are you going? On a trip?”

“No. Home,” Zhenya said, picking a spot on the wall and staring past him. If he had to look into Sasha’s stupid puppy dog eyes, he was going to lose it. “To Russia, for good. Coming here was stupid; I make more sense, there.”

“You’re not making sense at _all_ right now,” Sasha huffed, stepping into his line of sight. “Zhenya, what happened?”

“Therrien didn’t give me internship because he thought I was _good_ or _smart_ ,” Zhenya said, feeling himself get angry all over again. “Just thought I’m good for _hockey_ , can’t think for myself so just sign with him. Think I’m joke- _everyone_ here thinks I’m a joke, from beginning.”

“I don’t.”

Zhenya’s head snapped around when he heard someone else speak up. Standing in the doorway behind him was Kovalchuk, and his strode forward, standing in front of Zhenya. “Therrien’s an idiot,” he said decisively. “And idiot with power, which is why you listen to him, but, an idiot. I don’t say I’m wrong a lot, and I…” Kovalchuk grimaced. “… I don’t _bond_ , don’t make friends. But, you- Malkin, you’d be an idiot to leave.”

“You already think I’m an idiot,” Zhenya snapped. “So, what’s difference to you?”

“The _difference_ is, I’m _wrong_ ,” Kovalchuk said. “I was wrong, Oksana was wrong, Therrien was wrong- people were _wrong_ , and you can _show them_. You and Crosby, you’re the reason we had a fighting chance in this trial, the reason Therrien hasn’t forced Marchand to sign away his life already and sit in jail while a killer goes free. _You_ were the one who believed him, who helped him, and you can make sure he goes free.”

“Even if I could,” Zhenya said. “I’m not a lawyer- not even _law student_ , once papers go through say I’m dropping out.”

“They haven’t gone through yet, though,” Kovalchuk said. “So, there’s still a chance. You’d never leave a game halfway through if it goes bad, would you?”

Zhenya frowned, and sighed. He’d _thought_ about just walking off the ice before, but- “No,” he admitted.

“So, why leave trial? It’s just another game, Malkin- a game you know how to play,” Kovalchuk picked up his suitcase, and pushed it at him. “Put something nice on. We have a trial to win.”

“I-” Zhenya started to protest, but, Sasha cut in.

“I _will_ kidnap you,” he said. “If you keep being an idiot, Zhenya, so help me. You _know_ you can help, so _help_.”

“Kidnapping is against the law,” Zhenya said, but he was already letting Sasha push him to a back room.

“It’s okay,” Sasha said. “I have a boyfriend who will bail me out, right Nicky?”

Nicky shrugged, and didn’t speak up, but Zhenya wasn’t encouraged by the enamored look in his eye.

“Quickly, Malkin,” Kovalchuk called as the door was closed on him. “We’ve got court, and Marchand isn’t going to wait for us to do his piece.”

Zhenya blinked, unsure of exactly what Marchand’s ‘piece’ was, but, he dug the least wrinkled of his suits out of his suitcase and set to changing. This was probably going to end in disaster, he thought, but at least, if it did, he still had a flight to catch.

“You have car?” he asked when he stepped out, looking at Kovalchuk. “Or, call cab?”

When he didn’t answer, Nicky spoke up. “I can drive us,” he said. “Car’s kinda small, though.”

“As long as will drive, will work,” Zhenya said, and soon regretted that statement when he was smashed elbow to elbow with Kovalchuk in the back of Nicky’s small hybrid.

They managed not to die on the way there, though, so he counted it as a small victory when all four of them were able to sprint through the doors just as the courtroom was starting to settle. “Mr. Malkin,” Therrien said when he saw him, standing. “I thought I told you not to come today.”

“I’m glad he did,” Marchand said, standing as well. “Because, you’re fired.”

Therrien turned around, eyes narrowing. “ _Excuse_ me?”

“You are fi-red,” Marchand said, separating each syllable. “ _He’s_ defending me.” He pointed to Zhenya, and both he and Therrien balked.

“He’s just a law student,” Therrien spluttered. “He can’t defend you.”

“Actually,” Sid said, standing. He was looking at Zhenya rather than Therrien, and the intensity of his gaze made Zhenya’s stomach flip. “He can. Rule 304 of the Supreme Judicial Court states that a law student can represent a defendant in criminal proceedings.”

“ _If_ they have a licensed attorney present,” Therrien snapped, turning on him so fast Zhenya thought he heard the air around him snap like a whip. “And, without me, he does not.”

“I’m licensed,” Sid said, not backing down an inch, now staring Therrien evenly in the face. “And, I will _gladly_ supervise.”

“Like _hell_ you will,” Therrien hissed. “You work for _me_ , Mr. Crosby, don’t forget that.”

“No, Professor,” Sid said evenly. “I work for myself- and, I have no need to _manipulate_ interns.”

There was a gasp in the back of the courtroom, and that what when Zhenya realized that all eyes were on them. Therrien seemed to as well, and slowly, he backed down. “Fine,” he said, collecting his things. “Have fun in prison, Mr. Marchand.”

“Okay, bye!” Marchand called after him, waving patronizingly as Therrien stormed out of the courtroom. After he was gone, though, he turned back to Zhenya. “Don’t let me down, Malkin.”

“I won’t,” Zhenya promised, and then turned to Sid. “Thank you.”

“Did you really think I was just going to let you get away?” Sid said, grinning at him, and Zhenya almost kissed him right then and there, courtroom decorum be damned.

Before he could forget himself, though, the judge dropped her gavel and cleared her throat. “Mr. Malkin, any day now- you may proceed,” she said. “Call your first witness.”

Zhenya’s throat went dry, and Sid quickly sat down, giving him a thumbs up. Kovalchuk had sat down with Conor and Oksana, both of whom looked somewhere between confused and impressed. “Yes,” he said slowly. “The defense calls…” He picked up the sheet Sid pushed towards him, and read off the name. “Tyler Seguin to the stand.”

The man who rose looked like he was barely a man at all. He looked young, and scared, and Zhenya almost regretted calling him up.

There was something about his fear, though, that tipped Zhenya off. _Blood in the water,_ Therrien’s voice called out in the back of his mind, even as he tried to shove it away. He didn’t need people in his head, telling him what to do- but, he couldn’t deny that something about Seguin tipped off the shark sense that Therrien had tried to shove into their head.

“Mr. Seguin,” he started slowly, pacing in front of the stand and trying to figure out what exactly what setting it off. “What was… your relationship to the deceased?”

“He was my captain.” Seguin said, leaning forward to speak into the mic. His voice was quiet, and wavering, but it didn’t sound like that was how it normally was, either. Seguin didn’t look like the kind of person who treaded lightly anywhere, and a quick glance back at Marchand told him he was thinking something of the same.

“And, to the accused?” Zhenya asked. Seguin frowned, squirming for a second before he answered.

“Friends,” he said, and he sounded like he was on the verge of breaking. “Marchy and I were friends- line mates, usually.”

“Did you actually see the murder take place?” Zhenya asked. Seguin hesitated.

“No,” he said. “I had gotten in early that day, about the same time as Chara, and we were out skating for a while. We finished up, so, we went to take a shower. But,” he said, just as Zhenya was about to ask another question. “When I came back, I saw Marchy, standing over Z’s body and he was just… covered in blood.”

“We’re _screwed_.” Zhenya heard Conor sigh behind him as a gasp ripped through the courtroom. Zhenya turned back to look at his team, frowning, resolve faltering.

“No, we’re not,” Sid hissed, glaring at him, and then turning to smile at Zhenya encouragingly. “You’re doing great,” he said, low enough that Zhenya was sure it was only meant for him to hear. “Keep going.”

Zhenya smiled back at him, still a little unsure, but he turned back around and pushed on. “When you were out, did you—see anyone suspicious hanging around?”

“Suspiciously hanging around the shower?” Seguin asked, sarcasm obvious to even Zhenya. The rest of the courtroom laughed, but, Zhenya just frowned again.

“No, before then,” he said. Seguin sighed.

“No,” he said. “I was in the shower, and before that- I broke a stick, so. Had to go sort that out.”

“Broke a stick?” Zhenya asked. “When, how?”

“Uh, just. Taking shots,” Seguin said, dodging the question. Zhenya frowned.

“You broke stick, taking shots,” he said slowly. “How fast is your shot?”

Seguin frowned. “Uh, like ninety-seven miles per hours? Just about.”

Zhenya finally picked up on the unravelling thread. His hand shot up like he was in the classroom. “Your honor,” he said. “I’m need some ice.”

The judge frowned. “Are your hurt, Mr. Malkin?” she asked.

“No,” Zhenya said quickly. “Ice- rink. For hockey.”

Oksana made a frustrated noise. “ _Zhenya_ ,” she hissed, standing. “We don’t have time for your _games_.”

“I know what I’m _doing_ ,” Zhenya said before turning back to the bench. “Your honor, I’m asking for ice so that I can—recreate crime scene, for the court.”

There was a murmur throughout the courtroom once more, and for a moment, Zhenya thought the judge was going to say no, her eyes narrowing at him right up until her gavel dropped. “I’ll allow it, Mr. Malkin,” she said, considering. “But, I hope you’re not wasting my time.”

“Won’t be,” he said, giving her what he hoped was a winsome smile.

“The court will reconvene in an hour at the Warrior Ice Arena,” the judge declared, and her gavel dropped again. Zhenya rushed back to the defenses’ table as the rest of the courtroom started to file out, and his entire team was looking at him like he was losing his mind- even Sid looked a little scared.

“What’re you doing?” Kovalchuk asked. “What’s the big deal about a broken stick? Sticks break all the time, yes?”

“Yes- well. No,” Zhenya said as he collected his things. “Sticks break, yes, but. Very hard to break. Have to be hard shot, to break it- and, that shot? Not fast enough.”

“He’s lying,” Conor said, a slow smile pushing across his face. “Which means-”

“He’s lying about other things, too,” Oksana said, and sure enough, she was smiling, too.

“Why would he lie?” Marchand said, frowning. “Segs is my friend- like, one of my best friends. Why would he lie?”

“Not sure,” Zhenya said. He turned to Sid. “I’m meet you at rink. Need to go pick up my gear.”

“Don’t be late,” Sid said, and before he turned to leave, he reached out and took Zhenya’s hand. “You’re sure about this?” he asked, voice low again.

“You have faith in me whole time I’ve been here,” Zhenya said, squeezing Sid’s hand. “Just have faith a little longer. Trust me?”

“Of course I trust you,” Sid said, smiling at him. “Just- tread lightly.”

“Lightest feet,” Zhenya said solemnly. “Like cat.”

Sid laughed, and pulled away. “Win, and I’ll buy you dinner.”

“Best dinner,” Zhenya called after him, and then, he was alone in the courtroom. He took a deep breath, and pushed his shoulders back. Despite what he’d been putting up, he wasn’t sure of this defense at all. It was what he had, though, and he was nothing if bullheaded. He was in it now; no flights out. He either won, and Marchand went free, or he didn’t, and—well. And, he didn’t.

Zhenya pushed his bag up higher on his shoulder. No time for doubts. He had a case to win.

* * *

 

The courtroom had piled itself into the Bruins’ practice rink quite nicely. The jury and audience had seated itself in the stands, like spectators for a game. The judge had taken her seat just behind the glass, and Seguin had been seated in the penalty box. The defense and prosecuting teams, save for Zhenya, were seated on the benches on either side.

Zhenya had changed out of his suit, and into something a little more suited for skating, and he got several odd looks as he came out onto the ice and dropped his bag. “Mr. Malkin,” the judge called from her seat, frowning. “What is the point of this exercise, exactly?”

“Getting to it, promise!” Zhenya called. He skated over to the penalty box, and hefted the stick he was holding up for Seguin to see. “Mr. Seguin- your stick, yes?”

Tyler stood, and leaned over, examining the stick. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “Taped up and everything.”

“Yes,” Zhenya said, smiling, and skating back onto the ice, and digging into his bag. He took out several pucks, and set them up in a line on the ice. “Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Seguin claims that, before murder took place, he broke his stick taking a slapshot at approximately ninety-seven miles per hours. However,” Zhenya twirled this stick in his hand. It was smaller and lighter than he was used to, but, he could still work with it. “Not same height as him,” he said, and there were a few laughs from the audience. “But, my slapshot is usually around ninety-nine point six miles per hour- two point five miles per hour faster than Mr. Seguin’s. So…” Zhenya lined himself up with the first of the pucks, and hit it as hard as he could. It shot across the rink, and into the goal- the stick, though, was still intact. He smiled, but tried to push it back down as he lined up for the next shot.

Zhenya went down the line, shooting all the pucks in the line at full force. The force was gradually amped up, and, even with as much as the stick bent, it did not break. Somewhere around the fifth puck, the judge cleared her throat. “Mr. Malkin,” she said, sounding exasperated. “This is very impressive, but, is there a point to all of it?”

“My slapshot is ninety-nine point six miles per hour, your honor, as I already say,” Zhenya said. “I’m both taller, and heavier than Mr. Seguin- if _I_ couldn’t break stick, with the amount of force _I’m_ putting behind it, how could he?”

“I-” Seguin said, jumping to his feet to protest, but, Zhenya pushed on.

“Why would you lie about breaking stick?” he asked, skating his way over to the penalty box in a few strides. Seguin backed up, almost tripping over the bench.

“I-” Seguin got out again, but, Zhenya cut him off once more.

“Why would you lie about having to go to equipment room?”

“I-”

“Why would you-”

“Do you have any fucking _idea_ what being on a team with him was like?” Seguin’s voice echoed off in the silence of the rink. It seemed like no one was breathing; there was no fear in the man’s voice now, only anger, and hurt. “Do you have any fucking _idea_ what it was like, coming in every day, and getting _shat on_ , because I was younger, because I wasn’t fucking tied down, because people didn’t think I was pulling my weight- have you ever had your fucking captain yell _in your face_ because you bumped into him during practice, huh?”

All the anger went out of Seguin in a rush, and he slumped down onto the bench. “I didn’t…” he started, and then stopped. Zhenya just stood there, and waited, and eventually, Seguin started again. His voice was quieter now, but, it still rang out. “I didn’t mean to hurt Chara- I didn’t,” he said, and suddenly, the air was charged. “I just- we were talking, and I was trying to get him to understand and he just- _he_ didn’t. And, we fought, and- it was an accident. He was down, and bleeding, and I… I just panicked. So, I ran off to get help, and when I came back, Marchy was there, and Z was…”

Seguin couldn’t finish, face buried in his hands, but Zhenya didn’t need him to. He’d gotten his piece out of him. “Oh my god,” he heard someone say from the other side of the rink. Probably a reporter.

“Oh my _god_ ,” It was Marchand, this time, and it was almost like a wail. “Segs, man, _Jesus,_ I-”

“Oh _my god_!” Conor, now. “Evgeni you-”

The enter crowd was murmuring now, _oh my god_ , over and over again, until the judge produced a gavel from—somewhere, and banged it on the glass. “ _Order_ ,” she said, sounding exhausted. “It’s bad enough I had to sit in traffics to get here- take him into custody,” she said to the bailiff, gesturing to Seguin. She turned, then, to look at Marchand. “You’re free to go- and, we apologize.”

“Oh my god,” Marchand said quietly, but, it still echoed.

“Oh my _god_!” That was an unfamiliar voice now, from somewhere in the stands, and before anyone could stop him, a man Zhenya had never seen before was rocketing down the stands and onto the ice. He didn’t stop running, not even when he hit the ice and started slipping. Brad jumped over the bench and onto the ice, sliding his way over and knocking the man off his feet. They both landed a few feet from Zhenya, and he had to avert his eyes, feeling like he was intruding on a private moment.

“I fucking _missed_ you, Bergy,” Marchand breathed, pressing his face into the man’s neck. This was Patrice, then.

“Missed you, too,” Patrice said, squeezing his waist. “God, it’s so good to have you back.”

“Uh,” Zhenya said, not wanting to intrude, but also not wanting to have to stand there and experience this for much longer. “Still in rink.”

“Shit,” Marchand said, sitting up, and then pulling himself to his feet. “I guess I owe you, Malkin- I… I never thought about Segs.” His smile dropped.

“Take step at a time.” Zhenya said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “New trial, with him. Focus on happy things. You’re out, now.”

“Yeah,” Marchand sighed. “I’m out. Thank you.”

“Just doing job,” Zhenya said, grinning at him.

“ _Zhenya_!”

He barely had enough time to turn around before Sid was barreling across the ice towards him, and only half a second in that to open his arms to catch him in a hug when he launched himself at him. “I’m so _proud of you_.” Sid breathed, pressing his face into Zhenya’s neck. “You were _amazing_ , Zhenya, god, I-”

Someone cleared their throat behind them, and Sid stepped back abruptly. Oksana stared up at Zhenya, smiling in a way he hadn’t seen in ages. “Can we have a moment alone?” she said, practically purring.

Sid’s smile faltered for a moment, but, he turned to look at Zhenya, and it returned, a little hollower than it had been before. “I’ll meet you outside, yeah?” he said, moving back to the bench and gesturing for Conor and Kovalchuk to come with him. Marchand and Patrice smiled at him again, and left, and soon enough it was just Oksana and Zhenya, standing in the middle of an empty rink.

“You know,” she said after a moment of silence. “Zhenya, I was wrong about you.”

“Don’t say,” Zhenya snorted, feeling a faint, but definitely present sense of smugness. _Finally_ , she was seeing what he’d wanted her to see months ago- or, maybe she was seeing something entirely new, and better. Zhenya surely didn’t feel like he was anywhere close to being the same person he was when he first came to America.

“I was wrong,” Oksana said again, stepping closer, and putting her hand on Zhenya’s arm. “We _do_ belong together.”

Zhenya blinked, and then looked down at her hand. “Oh,” he said. “Ilya break up with you, yes?”

Oksana flushed, but didn’t reply. She didn’t step back, either, so Zhenya did.

“I… months ago, I dream of this,” he said. “Would have snapped you up in a second- and… you’re still beautiful, still smart, and wonderful, but. No. Have to say thank you, though.”

Oksana blinked. “No?” she said. “Thank you? What are you thanking me for?”

“I love hockey- loved playing, for long time,” Zhenya said. “But, then, I come here- I study, I practice law, and… is what I’m meant to do, really, is this. And, in way… I owe it to you. So, thank you, for help me find my way.” He leaned forward, and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Hope your find yours, soon.”

She didn’t move when he moved to grab his bag, or when he skated out of the rink entirely, and Zhenya wasn’t inclined to go back out there and get her, either. Instead, he changed as quickly as he could, and rushed out of the rink. Sid was waiting outside, and he felt himself grinning as he ran to him.

“How’d it go in there?” Sid asked. “Did you finally get your girl?”

“Not want girl,” Zhenya said, a little out of breath. Sid frowned.

“I thought-” he started, but, Zhenya didn’t let him finish; he’d been waiting too long for that. He surged forward, dropping his bag and putting a hand on either side of Sid’s face as he leaned in to kiss him.

“Want _you_ ,” Zhenya said when he pulled back, staring Sid in the eye as he blinked, dazed. “For months, Sid. I’m not want Oksana since _Thanksgiving_.”

“Thank _god_ ,” Sid breathed, and he kissed him again. Zhenya grinned against his lips before he kissed him back; he _definitely_ owed some people back home dinner for getting him here.

* * *

 

**_2 years later_ **

“A wise man once said, ‘you miss one hundred percent of the shots you don’t take.’” Oksana said, standing at the podium. The entire hall was silent, and Zhenya was sure they could hear his heart pounding from where he stood, waiting in the wings for her to finish her speech. “And, I believe that I learned that statement best from a man I’ve known for years now- a man we all know, and that we all saw take every shot he was given, and always, always hit home. Ladies and gentlemen, your valedictorian- Evgeni Malkin!”

The crowd clapped and he stepped out, hugging Oksana as she stepped down from the podium and he stepped up. When he looked out over the crowd, he could see his parents, both of their eyes shining, and Denis, recording the whole thing. Seryozha was just to their side, one of his daughters in his lap, and the other Ksenia’s. Beside them were Sasha and Nicky, a child of their own babbling excitedly to one of the Gonchar’s daughters, and Sid was a few rows up, beaming at Zhenya as if he were the only thing in the room. It was there his eyes rested as he started his speech, and even as he fumbled his words, his eyes didn’t drop to the notecards in his hand. Seeing Sid smile was more important.

“… I want to thank everyone.” he said, nearing the end, and finally having to look away from Sid, least he get too emotional. “Ones who thought I couldn’t be here, and ones who made it so I was- everyone. You’re the reason I’m standing here today, and—is best thing that ever happened to me. Thank you.”

There was applause, and everyone was standing, suddenly, caps being tossed and the whole crowd cheering. He waited a moment for everyone to celebrate on their own, before he moved back to the microphone, situating his cap back on his head and clearing his throat. “And, sorry- sorry, just. If I can have one second, before leave.”

Everyone sat back down, confused, but none looked more confused than Sid when Zhenya jogged down, and dragged him back up onto the stage. “Sid,” he said, taking both of his hands in his. “You help me- whole way, from beginning to end. Always in my corner, telling me I can do better, making me want to be better- making me _happiest,_ happiest man in whole world, every day.”

“Zhenya,” Sid said, almost warningly. He already seemed like he was dangerously close to crying, and his entire face was bright red.

“So,” Zhenya went on, squeezing Sid’s hands and dropping to one knee. He had to let go of one of Sid’s hand to fumble for his pocket, and the box inside, but that was alright, because the hand he let go automatically went to cover Sid’s mouth, stifling a gasp. “If you can just… make me happiest one more time, and-”

“ _Yes_.” Sid said, dragging him to his feet. “Shut _up_ , Zhenya, yes!”

Everyone was clapping again, but it was just background noise to the way his heart was pounding in his chest, and the way Sid was kissing him right now, a little too passionately to be decent. “Save for later,” he said when he pulled back, laughing. “You’re not even let me put ring on you, Sid; worst at proposals.”

“Not my fault you’re a romantic asshole.” Sid said, but he let Zhenya put the ring on his finger. It fit perfect, looked perfect- _was_ perfect. Zhenya smiled.

Zhenya had proposed.

Zhenya had proposed, and Sid had said yes, and they were going to get married and have beautiful, charming babies who played hockey like gods and smiled like angels, and save the world one case at a time, and everything was going to be _perfect_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, if you've made it this far! This was a monster to write, but, it was surely a labor of love.
> 
> Find me on tumblr @sidsknee for more fic, and to hear me hollering about the Pittsburgh Penguins non-stop!


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